The Love of the Eldar
by DancingChestnut
Summary: On the way to rescue Merry and Pippin, the Three Hunters encounter someone else... A story of how another joined them on their 'adventure'. Eventual Legolas/OC.
1. The Captives

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing. The Lord of the Rings belongs to the extremely talented J.R.R. Tolkien, and I'm merely dabbling my unworthy fingers in his magnificent world. However, my OC Calen is part of my imagination, though inspired by other fics - thus, she is not wholly mine as well.

**Author's Note: **Greetings! Since this is the first chapter of a multi-chapter fic, I would like to take this opportunity to clarify some things :-)

First of all, this is my first fic - so please do take the time to point out my mistakes so I can learn and improve! Constructive criticism is very much welcomed :-)

Secondly, I understand that there are many Legomances out there, and that you all might be bored of another one. I would like to say that although I think this fic is not very original (it follows most of the movie plot, by the way), I did try to explore a little more on how an OC would really feel upon meeting the Fellowship/Three Hunters, etc. More explanation will be given later on.

Thirdly, I would like to express my own honest opinion that the writing for this fic is not very good. In fact, I actually wanted to delete it after a few chapters, but due to the lovely response, I have decided to continue :-) The plotline is NOT original, and the writing is also not very Tolkiensque. Just some warnings. While I did do my best to write in Tolkien's style, you might find that the quality of the writing in the earlier chapters is lower than the later ones.

This fic is written in first person perspective. Though I myself prefer reading and writing in third person perspective, I feel that first person perspective is more fitting for this story as it serves to convey my OC's feelings/emotions better. And since my OC is (sort of...) the main character (though I'd prefer it if you called her the _narrator_), this is very important.

Last but not least, I hope you all enjoy this story. Though I myself may dislike it, I still sincerely wish that someone, out there in the big wide world, likes this. Thank you for your time! :-)

* * *

**_The Love of the Eldar_**

_Something draws near. And you would do good to hide, little Elfling._

The trees whispered in their graty voices, shaking their gnarled branches. I perched precariously on the edge of a long, sturdy branch, looking out to where the Plains of Rohan stretched out for miles before disappearing into the faraway mountains. My eyes narrowed, I scanned the horizon line. Everything was still and quiet, save for the occasional sweep of the wind and the rustle of leaves as the trees spoke. Yet, I could feel something—and the trees could, as well.

_What is it? _I questioned in a harsh whisper. The prickling on the nape of my neck rose as I stared out into the distance.

_Orcs. And no small number, either. _

As the tree replied, I tensed as thin, resounding vibrations hit my keen ears. Footsteps shook the ground slightly, uniform and packed tightly. Just as I tilted up my head up to glance at the sky, the tree I was in parted its dense leaves, dew sliding down its trunk. I could spy a sliver of the moon, its light scarcely filtering through the canopy of thick bramble. Nevertheless, I sent a silent thank you to the tree as the dim light illuminated the forest slightly.

It was a dark, menacing night, and it did not help that I was currently located on the outskirts of a gloomy forest. I had to rely heavily on my enhanced senses of sight and hearing, and even then I could not see properly—the sight of the Eldar was good, but not _that_ good.

Just then, the vibrations that I had been hearing solidified into actual footsteps. Heavy thumps, now scattered and disorganized, drew closer and I clambered up onto a higher branch to prevent myself from being seen, hoisting my body up with both my arms and the tree's help. I sat with my legs unfurled, leaning against the thick, rough surface of the tree's trunk. Its bark dug into my back and it was highly uncomfortable, but at least I could be certain that no one could see me here.

Using my hands, I parted the damp leaves, drops of water rolling off the smooth, waxy surfaces and dripping into my palms. I leaned forward slightly, peering through the curtain of branches and leaves. My dark hair tickled my back as I stared intensely at the approaching army of orcs.

The trees were right; this was no number to be trifled with. I swept my gaze over them and determined that there was—more or less-about sixty of them. A small number compared to others in previous battles, maybe, but considering that there was only one of me defeating them would be no easy feat.

I frowned and retreated, leaning back against the trunk of the tree and considering my options quickly. I could pick them off with my bow, but as much as orcs are stupid, they would be sure to notice their comrades dropping dead right in the middle of their march. Alternatively, I could also track them to wherever they were going to, and then kill them off.

I decided to do the former—even though it was risky, I might as well kill them now.

Better sooner than later, right?

Propping myself up on my knees, I drew my bow from my back gingerly, the jagged bark on the branch scraping my legs. As I whipped an arrow from my quiver and notched it, I aimed at the orcs near the front, following their movements. A single arrow to the throat would be all it took. I nodded to myself and pulled back my bowstring, feeling it vibrate with my tensed-up energy.

_Elfling, they are stopping! _The trees warned me, rustling their leaves.

Lowering my bow, I paused to see the orcs' run slow into a jog, and then walk.

"We're not going no further 'til we stop for a breather!" An orc snarled, breathing heavily. I grimaced at both their unfortunate voices and weak command of language.

The orcs stopped entirely, and threw down their things carelessly, milling around. Some of them sat down on the floor and began to rummage in their packs, while most of them remained standing, looking at a single, particularly burly orc with long stringy hair.

I presumed that he was the leader.

"Get the fire going!" He roared in a commanding tone, waving his bulging arm in the air. Fire? But they had no wood…

With a start, I realised what the orcs were about to do. Lifting my bow at the speed of lightning, I aimed carefully at the orcs who were currently scurrying towards a tree while wielding their blades. I would have leaped down from the tree and slay them—I was better at the sword than with the bow—but the knowledge that if I did that very thing, I would be discovered kept me from doing it.

However, yet another voice stopped me in my tracks—although it was not the trees this time.

"Merry! We need to go." An unfamiliar voice that was vastly different from the orcs' low growls—this voice was rather high and squeaky, with a touch of an accent. I furrowed my brow, distracted for the moment and looking around for the person from whence the voice came.

Several bundles on the ground which I had not paid attention to until now caught my eye as they rolled over.

_Rolled over._

That settled it then, they were captives of the orcs. What were the orcs going to do with them, then? It surprised me that the orcs had not yet killed them or eaten them by now.

At this moment, the tree which the orcs had been hacking at with their swords fell in a wild flurry of drifting leaves. Wide-eyed, I watched in despair and cursed myself silently. Why didn't I help save it? I could have shot the orcs down before investigating the voice! What had I been doing?

But in my heart, I knew that if I had shot the orcs before finding out the source of the voice, my presence would have been revealed and I would not even have a chance to investigate. So instead of shooting the orcs right here and now, I placed my hand over my heart, closing my eyes and uttering a quiet prayer.

_May you find peace in death, dear friend and comrade._

My eyes narrowed, I returned to the bundles on the ground. By now luck was shining upon me and the moonlight had considerably brightened up the place, allowing me to discern two curly-haired heads and small, stout bodies. I frowned in confusion. They were not big enough for men, lithe enough for elves…. They had the figure of dwarves, maybe a little thinner, but their hair was not those of dwarves. As far as I could see, they did not have beards.

_Halflings, Elfling. They are Halflings. _The trees paused in their weeping to help me solve this miniature puzzle.

What were Halflings doing here? Shouldn't they be off in whatever place they came from, the Shire or something? And what had they done to be captured by orcs? This was becoming more and more complicated.

I turned my gaze on the orcs, hoping that they could perhaps unknowingly provide me some clue. Right now, the orcs seemed to be divided into two halves, one on the left and one on the right. It seemed to me as if they were having some sort of argument. I strained my ears, fighting to hear what the foul creatures were saying.

"They are _not _for eating!" An orc at the head of the small army on the right snarled, leaning his head forward for emphasis. "Saruman said to bring them alive…and _unspoilt._"

Alarmed, I switched my gaze from the quarreling orcs to the captives once again. The orcs were under orders to bring them to Saruman? This situation was sounding worse and worse.

An orc's raised voice brought me back to reality. "What about their legs? They don't need them." There was a chorus of cheers and howls from the orcs behind him.

"Yeah! We haven't had anything to eat but maggoty bread for three stinking days!"

"We need some fresh meat!"

"Enough!" The orc who had yelled at them for wanting to eat the poor captives shouted. Just at that moment, an orc's head landed on the ground. There wasn't enough light for me to discern whose head it was, but I figured that soon the orcs would start fighting.

There was a moment of silence.

Then pandemonium ensued. Orcs rushed at each other, shrieking and howling, orcs yanked at each other's matted hair, orcs lifted their blades and chopped off one another's heads.

From the corner of my eye, I glimpsed the captives attempting to crawl away with their bound hands and legs.

"They're getting away, they're getting away!" Amidst the cries and yells, a scream rose up above them.

"Get them!" The orcs dropped one another and started to lumber towards the captives, who had turned and were looking terrified.

Without a moment's hesitation, I lifted my bow and shot at the orc nearest to them. My arrow flew straight and true, and it whistled as it whisked past my cheek, leaving a rush of wind in its wake.

The orc, with my arrow stuck firmly in its throat, choked and fell to the ground, black blood dribbling from his mouth.

The other orcs, upon seeing this, roared angrily and looked around. Using their distraction to my advantage, I leaped from the branch, wielding my bow. Hurrying towards the captives, I quickly drew my dagger and slashed hurriedly at their bonds.

Immediately, the orcs started to run towards me, and I slew the front few with my arrows, but they were stepping into my comfort zone, and thinking that I had better not waste my precious arrows, I slung my bow over my back and drew out my sword with a flourish.

They were upon me in a flash, and I began a deadly dance, thrusting my glistening blade with the swift, broad moves of the Elves. As I sliced and slashed, I turned and spying the captives looking up at me, yelled, "Run!"

They turned and delved deep into the shadows. As I fought with the orcs, blood splattered over me and I did not have enough time to see which way they ran.

I managed to kill about thirty of the orcs. Only half of them left, but my skills were not that honed yet, and I was tiring. They had thick armour on, which was cumbersome to their movement, but it took me a longer time to thrust my sword deep into the metal plates. My agility was working to my advantage, and I was easily twice as fast as them, but my strength was wearing out.

With a final burst of effort, I jumped around and made to cut off the head of an approaching orc, but with a twist I did not expect, he flicked his curved blade and my sword dropped to the floor with a clang. Panicking, I swooped my bow out from behind my back and notched an arrow quickly, but my movements were slower than they should be, and while I was occupied for that crucial moment, the orcs drew in closer and surrounded me in a tight circle.

I lifted my bow, spinning around and aiming at them in turn, but I was outnumbered, and they knew it. With maniac grins, they lifted their wicked blades and charged at me. I shot the orc nearest to me, but soon the wave of orcs overwhelmed me and I found myself kneeling on the ground, blood spilling from my stomach and onto my outstretched hands. My bow and sword lay more than several feet away from me.

The last thing I remembered was hearing the distraught cries of the trees.


	2. An Unexpected Meeting

**Disclaimer:** Not even Legolas. I don't even own Legolas. *sobs*

* * *

"Aragorn! Come quickly, I have found something!"

Despite my general light-headedness and wooziness, I felt myself being pulled toward the music of that voice, and I fluttered open my eyes and stared blearily into the cerulean blue eyes that were peering into mine. At that moment, the blond-headed figure turned and made a gesture to a person behind him.

"An Elf, one of my kin!" His voice sounded again, and I could not help but register how beautiful it was.

A man with dark straggly hair ran toward me, gasping slightly. "An Elf?" He could not keep the incredulity out of his voice. "What is an Elf doing here?"

To tell the truth, I could not quite recall, either. I remembered fighting the orcs…being overwhelmed…but I did not know why I was not dead, and why I was lying on the hot, sun-burnt ground of the Plains of Rohan.

I lifted my neck, trying to speak, but my parched lips could not form words, and I struggled briefly for a moment before subsiding.

The man and the Elf knelt down before me. Just at that moment, the stout figure of a Dwarf rolled down the hill, cursing wildly as he bounced onto the hard floor. With a sigh and some support from his axe, he got up, making his way towards the two figures in front of me.

"Aragorn? Legolas? Why have we stop—Oh."

Aragorn—the man—carefully used his fingers to peel apart my tunic near my belly. "She's injured. Rather badly, I must say."

He lowered his head and examined my bloodied flesh. "I need to see the wound itself."

He turned to the Elf beside him—Legolas, I presumed his name was—and flushed just the slightest bit. "Can you lift her shirt up? I think she will be more comfortable with you—after all, you are one of her kind."

Frankly, I didn't quite care who was lifting up my shirt right now. All I wanted was for the pain zapping through me to stop.

The Elf looked incredulously at the man. The man stared back. I tossed fitfully on the ground, although the movement hurt me, to remind them of my presence. I parted my lips, attempting to speak again, and the man quickly grabbed his pack and rummaged through it, pulling out a water skin. Gingerly, he poured the water into my dry lips. I swallowed gratefully, but some of the water dribbled down my lips and down the curve of my neck, and I pawed at the drops with my hand. The man, who had been watching my antics carefully, chuckled despite the rather solemn mood.

But at least now my throat was wet enough for me to talk.

Tentatively, I opened my mouth. "Look, can we get this over and done with? I don't honestly care who's lifting up my shirt." I shut my eyes. "Just…Do it, one of you. Do whatever needs to be done."

I thought I sounded a bit brusque, especially since it was my first time meeting them. But pain from the wound and frustration at my cracked voice, not to mention the hot weather, was making me slightly irritable.

The man and elf looked at each other and nodded. Slowly, the elf reached out his long, slender fingers and touched the fabric separating my skin and his skin. Then, he quickly but carefully peeled the fabric away from my wound. The dried blood had made the two rather stuck, and he worked hard to lift my shirt away from my wound without hurting me.

Gritting his teeth, he gave the fabric a hard pull, and I cried out, though not in pain.

As he tugged on my shirt, the fabric had detached itself from my belly, but his fingers, which had been splayed across the thin cotton, had made contact with my skin, giving me a sharp electric shock. I held back another gasp as he quickly removed his hand from the tender skin on my stomach.

The dwarf strode forward. "Aragorn, are we going to get moving soon? What about the Hobbits?" he urged.

Hobbits…Halflings. Could it be that…? No, why would they be tracking orcs across Rohan? I was sure that they were just mere travellers, and it was luck bestowed on me that they had found me while I was injured.

It must be just coincidence.

The Man looked up from his task—sorting out some herbs from his pack—and nodded. "Yes, Gimli, but this Elf here needs our help as well. We'll patch her up and hopefully she'll be well enough to walk. We can't just leave her here, can we?"

I could not help but look to Legolas, just to see his reaction. His calm and cool face had been replaced with a slightly panicked expression. "But Aragorn…"

Aragorn chewed the leaves into a paste and although I had seen it done before, I could not help but jerk backward as he slathered the leaves and his saliva over my wound. Immediately, a sting zapped through me, and I shut my eyes firmly against the pain. He then wrapped a couple of bandages across my wound.

Sitting back on his heels and nodding at my wound, he turned to the Elf. "Can you leave one of your kin here to die?"

"But she is alright now! You have settled her wound, and we…"

"Legolas, she needs our help as much as the Hobbits." I saw Aragorn clap a comforting hand on Legolas' shoulder. "We will _not _lose the trail." he said firmly, a touch of finality in his voice.

I was expecting yet more resistance from Legolas, but he shook his head and stood up, brushing himself off.

I looked at the man, feeling gratitude flood me. I wanted to speak in the Common Tongue, but somehow I slipped back into my own language and whispered, "_Hannon le."_

To my utmost surprise, he replied back in the same language. "_You are welcome_."

This trio was getting to be a strange threesome. I mused to myself as I used my hands to try and stand up. However, my wound was certainly not making it easy for me, and I collapsed back on the ground with weak, wobbly knees.

Aragorn stood up and heaved me up with just one hand. Although I was light, I did not expect such strength from a Man. His grip was surprisingly gentle, and his hands were big and solid.

Legolas and Gimli stood looking down at me—at least Legolas did. Gimli was too short to look down at me. I gave them a weak-hearted smile as Aragorn continued grasping my arm.

"Thank you for stopping to rescue me." I said, meeting their eyes.

Gimli coughed into his bushy beard and looked down at the floor. "It was all Aragorn, lass. I did nothing."

Legolas continued to stare intensely at me. "What is an Elf doing here?"

I tossed my head petulantly. "And what are _you _doing here?" I countered. I didn't like the way he was looking at me. It seemed to me as if he was peering through my flesh to see my soul, his gaze was so penetrating.

When it seemed pretty obvious that no answer was going to come out, I turned to Aragorn. "Thank you, but I can walk now." As if to prove my point, I wriggled out of his grip and took a tiny step forward. Pain flashed through me and I winced, Aragorn and Legolas leaping forward to take my arms.

Another electric shock flared through me as Legolas took hold of my arm, while for Aragorn I just felt warmth and friendliness radiating from him.

This was very odd indeed.

Aragorn cocked an eyebrow at me. "You can walk?" he smirked.

I huffed, trying to ignore the strange, unidentifiable flutters in my stomach. "I could if you would keep from supporting me every few seconds. Honestly." I deliberately avoided meeting Legolas' gaze, though I did not know why.

As we walked on, Legolas throwing glances in Aragorn's direction and Gimli following behind us, I spoke.

"From what I understand…You are tracking some Hobbits…? Were they taken captive by orcs?" I ventured.

I was not certain what answer I wanted to receive.

Before Aragorn could reply, however, vibrations shook the ground and I tensed, thinking it was orcs. But the sounds were different, and I could vaguely make out the clip-clopping sounds of hooves.

Legolas whipped his head around, his golden hair glinting in the sun. "Aragorn, I see horsemen."

Aragorn hesitated, then rushed over to a rock while supporting me with one hand—I still had no idea how he did that—and gesticulated for the other two to follow his lead.

I had no idea how I got caught up in this so quickly, but I wasn't quite sure I liked it. But then again, I didn't exactly dislike it, either.

Sure enough, an army of horsemen galloped past us, leaving a cloud of dust in their wake. Their green and red cloaks flew out behind them—I recognised the colours of Rohan.

Aragorn smiled reassuringly at me before standing up and looking out to where the horsemen were heading.

"Riders of Rohan! What news from the Mark?"

I watched in apprehension as the riders turned around with a signal from their leader. Soon they galloped past us yet again.

Legolas stood up and glanced down at me before offering me his hand. Hesitating, I clasped my hand in his—I wasn't sure whether the electric shock would happen again—but fortunately, it did not occur this time. I breathed a sigh of relief—I hadn't fancied it at all—and Legolas shot me a queer look as we took our places beside Aragorn.

The riders formed a circle around us, big at first, but then they drew closer, packing us in tightly, and pointed their long, sharp spears at us.

_Panicking, I swooped my bow out from behind my back and notched an arrow quickly, but my movements were slower than they should be, and while I was occupied for that crucial moment, the orcs drew in closer and surrounded me in a tight circle._

I lifted my head up at the memory of that night. I still didn't understand the mystery of how I had survived that attack, but this was certainly no place or time to think about it.

The horses snorted and stamped their hooves, and every movement we made was accompanied by a threatening jab from a spearhead.

The lead rider trotted his horse in and looked down at us sneeringly. "What business do two elves, a man, and a dwarf have in the Riddermark?"

I glanced at Aragorn, expecting him to speak—after all, even I did not know exactly what they were doing here—but my gaze met Legolas' piercing blue eyes, and I felt colour rush into my face. Quickly looking away, I glanced back at the lead rider, who, sensing that no answer was forthcoming, stared at us with a stone-hard gaze.

"Speak quickly!" he demanded.

At this moment, Gimli the Dwarf spoke up. I didn't know him very well yet—we had only met for maybe fifteen minutes?—but I supposed he did not like being threatened with hundreds of spears ready to jab at him.

"Give me your name, horse master, and I shall give ya mine."

Ai, Eru. I shook my head disbelievingly. No matter how angry he was, he should have controlled his feelings and kept quiet. Who knew what the leader would order his men to do?

Just then, the leader narrowed his eyes at Gimli, handing his spear to one of the men beside him and dismounting the horse. He took a menacing step forward.

Seeing this, Aragorn frowned at Gimli but placed a comforting hand on the little dwarf's shoulder.

"I would cut off your head, _Dwarf,_ had it stood but a little higher from the ground." The leader spat, raising his chin.

To my utmost shock, Legolas whipped an arrow from his quiver and notched it, aiming his bow straight at the leader's heart. "You would die before your stroke fell!"

The spears around us drew in even closer, and one of them even poked me in the arm.

Aragorn stepped in, trying to catch his Elven friend's eye, and pushed down Legolas' arm, effectively lowering his bow. Turning to look at the leader, he now spoke. "I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn. This is Gimli son of Gloin, Legolas of the Woodland Realm and…"

His speech, previously confident and sure, faltered as he turned to look at me. Apparently it had occurred to him that I knew their names but they did not know mine.

The leader, who had been staring intently at Aragorn while he talked, now turned his gaze on me, and so did everyone else.

"I am Calen, an Elf who has no home because I spend my years travelling Middle-Earth. I once came from Imladris." I gave a brisk nod at the end of my sentence.

A flicker of recognition flittered over Aragorn and Legolas' faces, but the others did not seem to understand.

Aragorn clarified, "Imladris is also known as Rivendell." Then he continued with, "We are friends of Rohan, and of Théoden, your king."

The leader swept his gaze all over us before deciding that we were clean of deception. "Théoden no longer recognises friend from foe," here he paused and removed his helmet, sending his long hair tumbling over his shoulders, "not even his own kin."

The spears withdrew as he continued to speak.

"Saruman has poisoned the mind of the king and claimed lordship over these lands. My company are those loyal to Rohan, and for that—we were banished." He paused for emphasis, leaning forward with a sneer.

"The White Wizard is cunning. He walks here and there, they say, as an old man hooded and cloaked, and everywhere his spies slip past our nets."

He turned and looked suspiciously at Legolas and me. He obviously didn't trust us.

Again, Aragorn stepped in. "We are no spies. We track a party of Uruk-Hai westfold across the plains. They have taken two of our friends captive. Have you seen them? They would be small, only children to your eyes."

My heart seemed to freeze.

None of them seemed to notice my reaction as Aragorn looked questioningly at the leader. After some thought, the leader replied, "We have neither seen nor heard of the Uruks, or your friends. Orcs have been pillaging these lands however, and I do not know which army it is that you speak of."

There was a moment of silence, in which I longed to scream, I _have seen and heard of the Uruk-Hai and your friends!_

The leader then turned his head and gave a sharp whistle. "Hasufel! Arod!" Two horses, one white and one brown, trotted towards him, whickering. He grabbed their reins and turned to Aragorn. "May these horses bear you to better fortunes than their former masters."

He gave the horses one final glance and nodded. "Farewell." Thus saying, he shoved his helmet back onto his head and swung himself back onto his own horse.

"Look for your friends, but do not trust to hope." He gave a small sigh and a dark note entered his voice. "It has forsaken these lands."

"We ride north!" he shouted, and with a stampede of hooves, his men turned their horses about and galloped after him, leaving tense silence behind.

I gulped. "Er… Aragorn?"

Aragorn whipped around. His eyes were sad and disappointed but he made an effort to smile at me.

"I think…" I faltered as Legolas and Gimli both started staring at me, "I might have seen your friends."


	3. On the Trail

**Disclaimer: **The person who owns LotR is dead *sniff* I am not dead. Thus, I do not own LotR.

* * *

"You have heard of them?" Aragorn's voice was full of surprise.

I gave a weak smile. "Not just heard of them. I have seen them."

Legolas, who was standing to the side with his arms folded, spoke up. "Can you be certain?"

If not caught up in the fury of the events that had unfolded today, I would have shot him for his condescending tone.

I gave a sharp nod. "From what you have described, yes, I think it is safe to say that they are the friends you have been seeking." I ticked the details off on my fingers. "They were captives of an army of Uruk-Hai, they were short and had curly hair, and they were near here last night, I think?"

Aragorn took hold of my shoulders and stared into my eyes. His face, lined with worry, was earnest as he asked me urgently, "Where were they?"

I could not help but smile at him. At least _he_ believed me. From the corner of my eye, I saw Legolas frown and swap his folded arms around.

"They were over there." I pointed to the distance, where Fangorn Forest was. Of course, neither Aragorn nor Gimli could not see that Fangorn was over there, and only Legolas, following my gaze, shot me a knowing look as Aragorn eagerly swung his legs onto the horse. Legolas and Gimli quickly followed Aragorn's lead, with Legolas helping Gimli onto Arod and then elegantly mounting it, sitting in front of Gimli.

I stood helplessly on the ground for a moment before Aragorn, noticing my predicament, got off his horse and helped me to it, hoisting my body onto the horse.

I hated being so helpless, but I had no other choice but to let Aragorn do whatever he did to help me.

We then galloped off into the distance. It was a short distance away, with me guiding Aragorn through the directions—after all; he did not know exactly where I had seen the hobbits.

"This is it!" I yelled as the horse approached Fangorn. With Aragorn's help—_again—_I dismounted the horse and hobbled toward the outskirts of the forest.

"I last saw them here." I turned and shouted to them.

Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli walked to the spot I was standing on. There were several bodies of orcs lying scattered around—the orcs I had managed to kill last night, probably.

Looking down at the carcasses, Aragorn pressed, "What about the orcs? What happened to the orcs?"

I hesitated, looking down at the ground. Tears swam in my eyes as I pondered over what to tell them. How could I have been so weak, and let the orcs overwhelm me? If their friends had died, it was all my fault. Although I had met the three of them for barely an hour, I felt a connection to them and I was not sure they would forgive me if the hobbits had died because of me.

Swallowing, I blinked away my tears and looked back up.

"Calen?" Aragorn asked.

"I fought with them." I answered honestly. "I was overwhelmed, and I do not know where the hobbits went, nor do I know what happened to the orcs."

A sudden wave of nausea hit me. What if the Uruks had found the captives, even after they had fled the scene, and brought them to Saruman anyway? I shuddered to think of it, and my knees grew weak and jelly-like.

But…That still did not explain why the orcs had left me alive and out on the Plains of Rohan.

"I cut the bonds of the captives. While I was defending myself against the orcs, they escaped, though to where I do not know." I supplied, wanting to give them a shred of hope to cling to, no matter how foolish or small that shred of hope was.

"It is most likely that the orcs found them, right?" Aragorn's voice broke.

As much as I hated to admit it, I forced a nod. "I am sorry." Gulping, I continued, "It is entirely my fault."

"Dead?" Gimli whispered disbelievingly.

Aragorn screamed in frustration, kicking a nearby orc helmet and sinking to his knees, cradling his head in his hands. He knelt on the ground, regarding the bodies on the ground with contempt.

"We failed them." Gimli sighed.

I could not help but look at Legolas, who had not spoken at all during this whole time. He was bending his head and uttering a prayer in Elvish, "_Hiro hyn hîdh ab wanath_." (May you find peace in death.)

It reminded me of the tree who had died because the orcs needed firewood to get a fire going. I could have stopped the orcs from killing it, but I had not, for the sake of the captives. And now the captives were dead, as well. I couldn't even save _one _life!

Lost in my thoughts, I almost failed to notice when Aragorn raised his head, patting the sun-baked ground with his hand. Studying the dried, yellow grass intently, he shifted the small blades of grass around, deep in thought.

"A Hobbit lay here."

I did not perk my head up, however. I already knew that the hobbits had laid, limbs bound with ropes, somewhere around here the night before. Although I did not know where exactly, this piece of information Aragorn had just unveiled was no surprise to me.

Contrary to me, Legolas and Gimli lifted their bowed heads, staring eagerly at Aragorn. For what purpose I did not know, but if they were to follow Aragorn I would have no choice but to follow as well. After all, I was injured and needed to get to the nearest town to treat my wound—the herbs Aragorn had placed would help to speed up my natural healing process, but towns would certainly have better medical supplies than they did, and also, I was the only one who had seen the Hobbits. I needed to help them! What kind of person would I be if, after they rescued me, I left them alone to find their friends?

No, I needed to stay.

And strangely, somehow… I _wanted_ to stay.

Having sorted out my muddled state of mind, I clenched my teeth and limped over to where the three of them were standing. Aragorn seemed to be saying something, and as I drew closer his lowered voice became louder and clearer.

"And the other."

Aragorn inched forward on his knees, and the other two trailed after him, while I took a step forward.

"They crawled," Aragorn said, his voice growing in volume and confidence. He moved forward slightly yet again, and expecting Legolas to move in the same direction right away, I took an overlarge step and wobbled unsteadily, shooting out my hand and grabbing Legolas' arm.

"I'm sorry!" I whispered in an effort not to distract Aragorn, my face immediately flushing.

Aragorn continued to walk forward, his bright eyes scanning the trampled ground. "Their hands were bound." Pausing in his steps, he knelt on the ground and reached for something he had spotted on the ground, concealed in the similarly-coloured patches of ground. He stood up with a piece of jagged rope in his hands that I instantly recognised.

It was the rope that I had cut with my small knife.

I opened my mouth to tell Aragorn this, but upon seeing me, Legolas shot me a look that clearly warned me not to speak.

I shut it with a snap.

Aragorn tossed the rope on the ground, walking faster and faster. As he walked, he whipped his head from side to side, still following the tracks on the ground.

"They ran here… and were followed." He threw this sentence over his shoulder at us, not even pausing to look at our reactions.

He began to run, his hair whipping in the small breeze. Legolas ran ahead of me, while Gimli stopped to help me walk.

"That Elf!" Gimli grumbled affectionately, jerking his head in the direction of Legolas.

From what I had deduced, Legolas and Gimli had a rather close friendship, which was rather odd. I would have thought Legolas an Elf who hated Dwarves intensely. For me, I had never interacted much with Dwarves and I refused to believe (most) of what I had not seen with my own eyes, so I had never taken to my kin's fierce dislike for the race.

In fact, Gimli was very nice indeed.

I shot a smile at said Dwarf as he used his great strength to half-pull me along.

"The tracks lead away from the battle!" Aragorn shouted to us. Well, of course. I had told the little Halflings to escape, hadn't I?

Ahead of us, the two figures had stopped abruptly and we hastened our footsteps, wanting to catch up with them.

Aragorn raised his head, his previously gleeful expression falling considerably. "And into Fangorn Forest." he stated grimly.

_As I sliced and slashed, I turned and spying the captives looking up at me, yelled, "Run!" _

_They turned and delved deep into the shadows. As I fought with the orcs, blood splattered over me and I did not have enough time to see which way they ran. _

There was a moment's pause, in which I wondered why the atmosphere felt so strained. I had been in Fangorn Forest before in my travels, and I had _just_ been on the outskirts of it the previous night, so… It wasn't bad.

Was it?

"Fangorn?" Gimli voiced his dark thoughts, eyes still fixed on the forest. "What madness drove them in there?"

Sparing a glance at Gimli, Aragorn raised his head and surveyed the trees.

"Well, there's only one way to find out."

We pushed through the trees—well, at least Aragorn and Gimli did. Being Elves meant that Legolas and I could fit our bodies through the thick undergrowth easily. As we ran forward, Aragorn still in the lead, Gimli, who had been supporting me all this way, dropped my arm for a moment and stopped.

Curious, I bent my head down, trying to see what he was doing.

He lifted his meaty finger and brought it to a dark substance on the curve of a smooth leaf. I had just recognised it when he raised his finger to his lips and tasted it with his tongue.

I nearly choked.

A horrified expression quickly consumed his face and he hurriedly spat out the blood, grimacing as he did so. "Orc blood!"

"I could have told you so if you had asked me, Gimli," I said nonchalantly, trying to hold back a giggle now that my disgust had fled.

He shook his head at me and reached out his hand to help me walk.

"Wait!" I took a careful step backward. "I think I can walk now!" Beaming at him, I pressed my hand against the bulge of the bandages under my shirt and took a couple of steps forward. Pain flashed through me and I grimaced, but I was determined not to let it show, and I quickly covered it up with a smile.

Gimli gave me an odd look. "I _can_ walk!" I insisted again, taking yet another step. A sheen of sweat broke out on my forehead at the pain in my abdomen.

As I said before, I _hated _being so helpless, and as long as I could walk, pain or no, I _would._

Up ahead, I glimpsed Aragorn kneeling down on the ground. My sharp ears picked up his murmur: "These are strange tracks."

Gimli rolled his eyes at me. "My sight might not be as good as an Elf's, lass, but I can certainly see that you are in no position to walk!"

With that, he grabbed my arm forcefully and dragged me after Aragorn and Legolas, with me yelling a mixture of Sindarin and Quenya invectives, occasionally throwing in a Dwarvish curse I had learnt on my travels.

Aragorn and Legolas, who had been moving forward quickly, paused in their work to look back at me and Gimli.

Upon seeing my disgruntled state—which included flying fists, an occasional grunt from Gimli and such—Aragorn allowed a grin to cross his face, dropping the matter of the tracks for a moment and running back to us. Legolas, of course, followed him.

"I apologise, Calen," Aragorn bestowed upon us an affectionate smile, "I had forgotten about your injury." He raised his eyebrow at Gimli. "Let me check your wound again."

Muttering under his breath about "insolent Elves", Gimli put me down on the mossy floor, rubbing his arm. I smirked secretly. Dwarven strength or not, a highly irritated —albeit slightly injured—Elf could pack a punch if she wanted.

Then Aragorn's words sunk into my befuddled brain. "Look at my wound?" I shook my head vigourously. "No."

Aragorn, who had been looking expectantly at me, rolled his eyes. I fought against the very human urge to roll my eyes right back at him, and folded my arms over my stomach.

"I'm healed," I said convincingly, taking a few steps forward. A couple more drops of sweat rolled down my forehead, and I winced just the slightest bit.

Aragorn folded his arms and stared at me. "I think that it for me to decide."

Gimli huffed into his red beard. "Aragorn, let's just tackle her and be done with it. I'll sit on her," he offered, swinging his axe and looking extremely pleased at the prospect.

"Anyway," Gimli continued, "I do not think she is healed at all. How can one heal from such an injury within a matter of hours? Nay, I think it will take at least a couple of days."

"_Elves _have a natural healing system that allows all their injuries to heal at a much faster rate than is fathomable!" I shot back indignantly.

Aragorn attempted to soothe the situation by saying, "Calen, if you would just let me look at your wound—"

"It. Is. _Healed_."

I walked forward resolutely, my back ramrod-straight and my head held high. "See? I can walk." I turned my head and gave them a brilliant—as well as slightly forced—grin. "Now let's go find some Hobbit."

* * *

We had trekked through the dense forest for a few hours now, and as much as I hated to admit it, the effects of my wound were beginning to take toll on me. My whole abdomen ached, and every step I took sent a bolt of pain running through me. Elves healed well, that much was true, but the wound I had sustained was not going to miraculously disappear within the next hour or so.

All three of them were in front of me when Aragorn finally stopped. Upon seeing this, I could not prevent a sigh of relief from escaping my lips, and I found myself involuntarily sinking onto the damp floor. I leaned my weary back against a nearby tree and rested, if only just for a while—they didn't seem like they were going to stop anytime soon.

Only Legolas heard my small exhalation and he turned his head to glance back at me, a slightly worried look etched upon his pale face. His body showed no signs of strain or weariness, and I gritted my teeth, thinking that _I _would have been just like him if I had not gotten injured.

But then again, if I had not been wounded, would I be here at all?

Aragorn looked around the forest. It was perpetually dark in here, with thin streams of light filtering in, but now that night was soon approaching, the light had faded into the shadows, leaving us in shrouds of darkness and uncertainty. It was even darker than the previous night—I had been on the outskirts of this forest then, but now I was _in_ the forest.

"Aragorn, night is falling." Legolas spoke for the first time he was here in the forest. "We must rest." As he talked, he gave me another glance, and I closed my eyes, feeling sudden heat rush up my body.

I heard the scuffle of footsteps and my eyes flew open as I sensed a presence near me. Automatically, my hand went to my sheathed sword—I was far too used to living out in the wilds.

"Peace, Calen." Aragorn gave me a small smile as he looked down at me. "You look weary. Let us find a place to sleep."

"What?" I struggled to my feet. "No! We must not lose the trail!" The guilt I had felt before, when all of us thought that the Hobbits were dead, had not faded and I was still doubtful as to whether the little folk were alive. I mean, there wasn't any solid proof that they were alive, was there?

Aragorn sat down opposite me, stretching out his long legs and leaning against the trunk of a tree as well. "I am still not certain of what has happened to them," he said thoughtfully, "If you were overwhelmed by the Uruks, what happened to the rest of them?"

"That is exactly what I thought!" I sighed half-exasperatedly, "Why did they put me out on the plains of Rohan instead of just slaughtering me? And did they track down the Hobbits?"

Lost in my thoughts and questions, I furrowed my brow and stared down at a nearby bush—as if it would spring up and tell me all the answers I wanted to know.

Aragorn's musing voice broke the silence. "I do not think that the Uruks left you out on the plains. It was probably someone who meant you well, someone who knew that we were tracking the Hobbits and we would find you."

I got up from the ground and brushed myself off. "But who?"

"I do not know the answer to that, either."

This time, when Aragorn yelled, "We find a place to settle down for the night!" I did not protest.

* * *

When we had finally found a small clearing that was just big enough for all of us, I gave a loud exclamation and sunk onto the floor, whipping open my pack and rooting through it frantically. It was incredibly lucky that I had stopped at a nearby town to pick up supplies recently. I spread a blanket over the floor, scooping up the leaves and twigs with my hands and depositing them somewhere else, rearranged the things in my pack so that it could act as a makeshift pillow, and then took out another blanket to drape over myself.

As soon as I had finished setting myself up, I looked around at the others. They did not use blankets, but instead just cleared the area where they were going to lay themselves down and used their cloaks to cover themselves.

I frowned. Wouldn't they be cold? Even I felt a slight tang of coldness, and I was an Elf, used to the elements. Surely Gimli and Aragorn would be worse off.

"I have extra blankets," I offered to no one in particular, glancing around the group. They all shrugged or shook their heads, and then curled themselves up. Their breathing—slight gasps and pants from the effects of running for such a long time—soon lulled into deep, even breaths.

I sat staring at all three of them for a moment, gobsmacked.

At first, I just looked at them as if they were crazy, but my gaze kept finding its way back to Legolas. His long blond hair spilled over his shoulders, managing to glimmer even in the near dark, and his skin was pale and flawless. The cloak wrapped neatly around his broad shoulders and I could see that his body was lean and muscled. When I looked at his face, his lips were curved in a small, sweet smile, almost as if he was dreaming, and involuntarily a smile crept onto my own lips.

Then suddenly, the idea of what I was doing barreled straight into my mind—the part with common sense.

What was I doing? I didn't even know Legolas well, and actually I was most likely just going to help them find their Hobbit friends, heal my wound and be done with it. I wasn't going to stay with them on their travels or anything. I shook my head disgustedly. Not to mention the fact that Legolas and I had not spoken much. I couldn't figure it out, though. I had managed to make acquaintance with Aragorn and Gimli fast enough, but Legolas—no. It was odd. He was of my kin, I would have thought that it would be easiest to interact with him, but no, just the opposite.

It was an utter mystery, but yet I did not plan to solve it.


	4. The White Wizard Approaches

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing. Except my OC. *sighs*

* * *

I woke to someone shaking my shoulder gently. Peeling my eyes open hesitantly, I peeked up at Aragorn's face.

"Calen, I'm sorry to wake you, but we must go."

I rubbed at my eyes and frowned. Had I actually closed my eyes when I rested? I scowled even more at the thought. I must have been so tired that I had closed my eyes and succumbed to sleep—which was a very bad idea, considering that only Legolas and I (being Elves, we were the only ones who could have been alert while resting) could have kept watch. If I kept drifting off like that, it would be the death of us.

Muttering under my breath, I quickly stuffed my two blankets into my pack, brushed any stray leaves off my body and hair, and looked at them expectantly.

Without a word, Aragorn set off again, following the tracks left by the Hobbits. Gimli walked right behind him, swinging his axe and tromping loudly through the undergrowth. To my surprise, however, Legolas fell back, his steps lagging, and he somehow ended up beside me.

We walked in silence for a few minutes, the sound of three different types of footsteps echoing through the forest. Aragorn's steps were strangely light for a man's, his strides slow but even, while Gimli's were loud and heavy, clumping through the crackling dried leaves. Legolas' and my footsteps were typically light and soft. I felt myself falling into a hazy kind of routine, just following Aragorn while I listened to the sounds of the forest and the rhythmic thump of our footsteps.

It was weird to think that I had only met them a day ago. It seemed so_ long_.

"Does your injury still hurt?" I started at the sound of a voice and looked around bewilderedly for a moment before I rested my gaze on Legolas. He was still walking forward steadily, his eyes trained on Aragorn, but I could see the question in his eyes.

"No, it's fine." I self-consciously smoothed back a strand of flyaway hair from my face. Then I added after a pause, "It was already fine the previous day."

Legolas gave a low chuckle, turning to face me. His eyebrow was raised and his blue eyes glittered with flickering amusement. "Really?"

I gave a firm nod. "Really."

Ahead, there were a couple of laughs, a rich, baritone one I recognised as Aragorn's, and a short, bark-like laugh emitting from Gimli. I decided to ignore their obvious laughter at me and continued to walk on.

After a few hours of tireless walking, Aragorn stopped in another clearing, similar to the one we had slept in, but larger.

Leaping nimbly over a couple of bushes and bramble scattered on the ground, he proceeded to make his way down between the narrow pathway the big, sprawling trees provided. Gnarled branches sprouted from odd places in the trunks, their foliage was dark, deep green, and sometimes even brown. I paused for a moment, my eyes searching.

"I hear water," I announced. As soon as the words passed my lips, I spied a tiny little brook flowing among the trees' roots, and I squatted down, examining it. It was quite clear for such a dank forest, I mused.

"Come on, Calen," Legolas said, turning his head. I looked up at him in surprise, then shrugged and jumped after them, jogging over to where Aragorn had knelt.

"These are strange tracks," Aragorn murmured, a wondering tone in his voice. He frowned at the ground, obviously running the possibilities over in his head.

I looked around at the trees. They were large and sturdy, almost like bodyguards or sentries, and they soothed me, as if they were standing guard over us. I felt a faint smile cross my lips.

Gimli, who was standing behind me, startled me out of my stupor as he proclaimed grumpily, "The air is so close in here!"

Legolas looked around, examining the trees with his bright eyes. "This forest is old…" he spoke almost hesitantly. "Very old." Seeing Aragorn scan the forest along with him, I took a step forward, wanting to know what they saw. "Full of memory… And anger."

As he said the last word, the forest resounded with an ominous echo, and I felt the hairs at the back of my neck stand up. Gazing around, I could hear—and feel—the trees groaning in displeasure. Their voices ran smoothly, but I could not make out the exact words, only feel the underlying current to it.

Apparently, Aragorn and Gimli could hear the trees' moans and creaks as well, and they whipped their heads upwards, looking up to where the trees shot up to the sky and towered over us.

Behind me, Gimli gave a loud, warrior-sounding exclamation, and there was a sound of metal scraping against metal.

"The trees are speaking to each other!" Legolas stated urgently, and he whipped his head around, looking in the direction of Gimli. Aragorn and I promptly followed suit, and upon seeing the Dwarf standing with his legs wide apart and arms raised in a defensive gesture, I could not hold back a giggle.

"Gimli!" Aragorn hissed.

Gimli turned to face Aragorn fully, his axe gripped tightly in his hands. "Lower your axe."

Gimli looked stunned for a moment, his lips parted and his eyes wide, then he slowly let the long handle slip through his hand.

"They have feelings, my friend." Legolas and I said together, our words overlapping slightly. Still, we turned to look at each other incredulously before I let yet another smile burst forth on my lips.

Gimli gave a short laugh as he looked at us, lowering his axe fully. Even Aragorn chuckled at our surprised expressions, releasing some of the tension in the air.

Shrugging, Legolas continued, "The Elves began it, waking up the trees, teaching them to speak." He directed his gaze upwards, his pale hair ruffling in the small breeze. Looking at the small blond strands waving in the wind, I tucked my own hair behind my ear.

Gimli shuffled his feet, rolling his eyes and giving Legolas a good-natured glare. "Talking trees."

Slowly, he began to walk forward, his boots crunching on the gravel and leaves. "What do trees have to talk about, hmm?" He directed this question to the ground, probably still embarrassed about the axe-holding incident. "Except the consistency of squirrel droppings."

I wanted to laugh, but something in the air stopped me. As I stared around, I could see a gentle rippling in the air, almost like a vibration of sorts. Taking a few steps forward, I peaked my ears, wanting to glimpse some clue of this mysterious feeling. It felt like power… it was strong, magnetic… and it was a presence.

Someone was out there.

Frowning, I leapt forward to inform Aragorn of this, but Legolas beat me to the chase. Walking forward urgently, he cast a sidelong glance at my frowning face and muttered to Aragorn, "Aragorn, _nad no ennas." _(Something is out there.)

I gave a sharp nod. "It is a presence. I cannot tell if it is good or bad, but it is certainly strong."

"What is it?" Gimli, panting slightly, heaved himself forward and posed the question in his gruff voice.

As Legolas surveyed the surroundings, Aragorn and I jumped up next to him, and Aragorn asked breathlessly, "_Man cenich_?" (What do you see?)

The forest was silent for a moment, even the trees ceased in their previously relentless sounds. It seemed as if the whole world was waiting, and I couldn't stand the tension and anxiety.

Drawing out each and every word deliberately, Legolas said, "The White Wizard approaches." He jerked his head to the right, his eyes glimmering in the dark.

Saruman.

The words hung in the air for a moment like a bunch of dangling over-ripe berries, and as they fell to the floor and burst, we shuddered into motion.

Aragorn closed his eyes for a moment, pondering. When he opened his eyes a moment later, he said softly, "Do not let him speak. He will put a spell on us." The sentence was completed with a vicious hiss, and though his face was clouded by shadows I could make out his determined expression.

Thus saying, he glanced down to where his sheathed sword was hanging by his hip, and he carefully wrapped his hand around its hilt, drawing part of the blade out with a smooth scrape.

Behind me, Gimli tightened his grip on the handle of his axe, keeping it close to his body, and Legolas stroked the shaft of his yellow-feathered arrow—already nocked and ready to fly—lovingly, his eyes stern.

Gritting my teeth, I decided that my sword would be my best bet, considering that it was the weapon I used most proficiently. Carefully positioning my hand on the hilt like Aragorn, my fingers seeked the cool, familiar metal.

"We must be quick," Aragorn ordered harshly.

The power I had been feeling in the back of my mind grew larger and stronger, until it was pulsing through my body, lingering in the very air. It flashed, fire-hot, like a lightning bolt through my mind, and my instincts took over.

Whipping around, I drew my sword with a flourish. Beside me, Aragorn did the same thing and Legolas lifted his bow, quickly taking aim. Gimli, giving a loud roar, hurled his axe at the white figure that stood in front of us. It hurtled quickly through the air and I paused for a split second, wanting to see if it would hit its mark.

But it never did, and as the figure swung his arm through the air, the axe flew backward with a smash.

Legolas hurriedly fired and the arrow whizzed through the air, but again, his arrow was deflected with a blow of the figure's arm.

Panicking, I leapt forward on cat feet, but soon my hand grew hot, hotter and hotter till I almost screamed in pain. Lifting up my hand, I saw that my sword was burning red-hot, like flames licking up the metal, and soon the fiery light melted into white light not dissimilar to the one surrounding the figure.

The same thing happened to Aragorn, and our swords dropped to the floor with resounding clangs.

Knowing that weapons would be of no more use here, I squared my shoulders, angling my chin up to where the figure stood over us on a rock. I did not look directly at him though, for his light was far too bright and harsh to my sensitive sight. The white light shone in glimmering rays through the darkness, illuminating much of the forest.

I could still feel the power radiating from the figure, but somehow it did not seem as threatening now.

"You are tracking the footsteps of two young hobbits." The voice of the figure did not question, but state. His voice reverberated through the air, echoing with a slightly eerie tinge to it.

Despite all my senses proclaiming him as a non-threatening presence, I could not help but feel slightly afraid.

This man could probably decapitate us in seconds.

"Where are they?" Aragorn's voice sliced through the air, and I tensed slightly, not expecting this mysterious figure to deign us with an answer.

"They passed this way," I could barely discern a nod of the figure's head, "the day before yesterday. They met someone they did not… expect. Does that comfort you?"

I stole a glance at Aragorn. His brow was furrowed and his face filled with suspicion, and he lowered the arm he had been using to shield his eyes.

"Who are you?" he whispered. "Show yourself!"

The light around the figure dimmed, and he took a step forward, baring his features for us to see.

* * *

**A/N:** One Fellowship of the Ring for sale. Can be bought as a whole, or individually. Going cheap, one person (of your choice) costs one review! ;) Buy now! While stocks last ;)


	5. To Edoras

**Disclaimer: **Tolkien owns everything. I am not Tolkien.

Many thanks to Elves are awesome, floweringbirdies, Princess Katt12, Seriya Silvermist, LILEVILONE96 and PaisleyMarie for reviewing! *huggles*

* * *

The tall man standing in front of us had snowy white hair sprouting from the roots of his head as well as a bushy yet slightly scraggly beard and moustache. His thick eyebrows arched over his deep, stern eyes, a dark, swirling blue that held the wisdom of many ages. Sagging eye bags were visible in the faint light he continued to emit, and his skin was etched with fine wrinkles. He grasped a long, white staff in his left hand, his long, slightly scuffed fingers loose in its grip. He looked old, yet his eyes had a faint, mischievous squint to them, almost as if he were smiling—just not with his mouth.

In the few seconds I took to assess this, Aragorn stepped forward, his eyes glinting in the light, his mouth open in what I recognised as a disbelieving gesture.

"It cannot be." He murmured softly, almost to himself. Giving his head a slight shake, he returned his searching gaze back to the figure in front, striving to confirm his identity.

I frowned, slightly confused. Who was this person, and how did Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli know him?

I swept my glance over the others. Gimli's helmet was slightly askew on his head, and his mouth was flopped open in a surprised expression.

Legolas' eyes were wide and glinting, his lips parted, and as he looked at the figure, he said almost reverently, "Forgive me, I mistook you for Saruman." With that, he bent down and knelt on the mossy floor, head bowed.

Upon seeing this, Gimli bent his head as well, his helmet sliding sideways on his head, and gave a small bow.

I stared at them. This was the White Wizard—Saruman! Why were they bowing to him? Why were they acting as if they knew him? Questions swirled in my head, making me feeling dizzy in the surreal and unexpected situation.

Aragorn remained standing, staring up into the wizened face.

The white-clothed man raised his head, his previously furrowed brow relaxing into a friendlier expression.

"I am Saruman," the wizard spoke slowly and clearly, his deep, distinctive voice resounding.

I jerked my head up, gaping at him. Since he was Saruman, what was he going to do with us?

"Or Saruman as he should have been." he finished, lifting his wide brows higher up into his forehead so that fine, curved lines appeared on his high forehead. His lips curved into a small, expectant smile.

Aragorn frowned, still in disbelief. Shifting his weight from one foot to another, he shook his head firmly and uttered, "You fell."

The wizard lowered his head, meeting his eyes with Aragorn's. "Through fire… and water."

A thoughtful expression consumed his face, and he narrowed his eyes in concentration as he spoke. "From the highest dungeon to the lowest peak, I fought with the Balrog of Morgoth." For a moment, an icy fire lit up his previously kind eyes, and I trembled a little, visualising the scene in my head.

We were all silent for a moment, wrapped up in the little cocoon he was spinning around us with his words.

"Until at last I threw down my enemy and smote his ruin upon the mountainside." A dark note entered his voice. "Darkness took me, and I strayed out of thought and time."

At this, a dreamy look overcame his eyes and he leaned on his staff slightly. "Stars wheeled overhead, and every day was as long as a life-age of the earth."

"But it was not the end. I felt life in me again."

He straightened up, and the snap in his tone made us stir slightly, sensing that this was important. "I've been sent back until my task is done."

"Gandalf." Was that a tear I saw in the corner of Aragorn's eye? And who exactly was this Gandalf?

Turning his head at the sound of Aragorn's voice, Gandalf—why did it sound vaguely familiar?—hunched his shoulders and narrowed his eyes, the sides crinkling.

"Gandalf?" he turned away for a moment and pondered over this, his brows drawn together. Then suddenly he turned back and smiled.

"That was what they used to call me." Gandalf nodded, his head bobbing in an amiable gesture. Aragorn frowned slightly but said nothing, instead, giving a small nod in reply.

"Gandalf the Grey." He smiled even wider, his face melting into a satisfied expression. "That was my name."

"Gandalf!" Gimli cried affectionately, swinging his axe.

Gandalf chuckled to himself and met our eyes. "I am Gandalf the White, and I come back to you now, at the turn of the tide."

I stole a glance at Legolas. His eyes were glimmering with controlled happiness, and a small grin curled at the corner of his lips.

I still didn't quite know who this Gandalf was, and whether he was to be trusted, but if they all trusted him, I guessed I did, too.

Gandalf turned sideways, and his deep eyes met mine. A surprised expression flitted across his face, followed by a somewhat satisfied, knowing look.

"Ah. You have found the little Elf."

My heart stuttered a little. "What?" I floundered, not sure what to make of this surprising statement.

Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli all turned as one, spinning around to face me. Their brows were all furrowed in identical expressions which looked so absurd, it almost made me giggle.

Almost.

Gandalf leaned on his staff and contemplated all of us, his eyes twinkling in merry amusement. Now all of us turned to him, demanding answers.

"Have you met Calen before?" was Aragorn's carefully phrased question.

"What's the lassie got to do with this, Gandalf?" Gimli asked slightly exasperatedly. Patience certainly did not seem to be his strong suit.

"'Little Elf?'" I spluttered over the indignation of it all as I finally found my voice. I was certainly not "little"! Maybe in comparison to Gandalf and a little younger than Legolas, but certainly not compared to the rest!

Gandalf shook his head at our outburst. "This young Elf here," he said wisely, brandishing his stick towards me, "Calen, did you call her, Aragorn?"

He continued speaking without waiting for a response. "She is a brave little one, I must say," he mused. "She tried to take down the orcs who took Merry and that Peregrin Took captive—"

"We already knew that—" Gimli blustered.

"Even though she was heavily outnumbered," Gandalf interjected firmly, giving Gimli a severe look. As soon as his gaze returned to me however, his expression softened.

"She was injured, and I found her lying unconscious on the outskirts of Fangorn Forest. The orcs who had taken the Hobbits captive were all standing around her, ready to finish her off." Gandalf's eyes clouded over, a sign that he was deep in thought, a sign that I had managed to pick up in the first few minutes I met him. Thinking of the strange circumstances that had led me here, I supposed that that was not very queer after all.

"The Uruks were about to kill her, but I slew them all. I was about to bring her to Edoras to be healed…" he frowned slightly, "but yet, Treebeard called for me. He said a matter of utmost urgency had been brought to his attention, and I needed to meet him."

The silence was thick, hanging odiously in the air. I wanted to ask who Treebeard was, but no one spoke, and so I did not dare to.

Gandalf gave me a sad smile. "I did not know what to do for a moment. On one hand, Treebeard insisted that I was there, but I did not know if you would die…" He sighed for a moment, closing his eyes and giving his head a slight shake.

"I knew that you three—" he jerked his head in the direction of Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli, who were all standing there, nonplussed, "—would be arriving here in a couple of days, but this young lass here might not be able to make it. So I took a risk and laid her out on the Plains, hoping fervently that you three would find her."

He exhaled, a puff of breath billowing out from between his lips. "Thankfully you all did." He nodded, a smile gracing his lips.

Well, that certainly cleared up all the questions.

The silence that had been hanging over us for the past few minutes cleared as soon as he finished speaking, and I stood there for a moment, slightly stunned.

So Gandalf was the one who had saved me from the Uruks? But he had not bothered to bring me to Edoras—even though I may have died—because of some urgent meeting with this Treebeard?

I must admit that I did not know what to make of that.

Aragorn turned to me, his expression slightly alarmed. "Calen, are you all right?"

I realised with a start that my knees seemed to be sagging slightly, and my vision swam out of focus. Dazedly, I gave a weak, groggy nod. The forest spun, and the trees seemed to rear up and leer at me.

"She doesn't look okay…"

"Lassie!"

"Calen?"

It must just be the overload of information, I reasoned. What with all the orcs, getting injured, being found by the three of them, then seeing this new White Wizard who saved me… all in the course of two days? It was too much to take, even for one of the Firstborn.

Pain tore through my upper abdomen, and I gave a groan, sinking to the ground lethargically.

One of the Firstborn should not be fainting because of an old wound that was healed… _Supposedly _healed.

"Calen!" cried a chorus of voices, before I succumbed to the darkness.

* * *

"Over-exerted herself, I suppose."

"That silly lass! I told her—"

"You told her nothing of the sort!"

The voices startled me out of my sleep-induced haze, and I jerked feebly, caught between the two worlds of consciousness and unconsciousness. Bright spots whirled around in the chasm I was caught in, and suddenly, there was a sensation of free-falling, and with a start, I jolted awake.

Blinking blearily, I noticed that we were in the same clearing as before. As soon as I opened my eyes, the three figures who had been standing beside me, talking animatedly, rushed over and peered into my eyes.

I groaned. I was very tired, and not pleased at all.

"What happened?" I asked. I remembered following them into Fangorn, sensing something powerful, meeting the White Wizard, Gandalf…

Speaking of Gandalf, where was he?

My eyes swept over Aragorn's dark face, worn and dotted with stubble, Gimli's pleasant face with his fuzzy crimson beard, as well as Legolas'—as usual—flawless looks. Out of the corner of my eye I spied a figure standing aside from the rest, hands folded behind his back and watching the situation peacefully. Ah. So that was where Gandalf was.

"Calen? Are you… all right?"

Legolas' voice jerked my attention back to him, and I stared at him for a moment before stumbling over my words, "Yes. Yes, I am."

"I don't think so." Aragorn scowled down at me disapprovingly. "I told you not to over-exert yourself, especially since that old wound of yours was not quite healed. And yet you insisted on carrying on! Look at your complexion!" he gestured wildly towards my face.

A smirk passed over my face at his brotherly ranting, but it was quickly wiped off as Aragorn frowned at me again. He was clearly displeased, and taking this more seriously than I had thought.

"I am fine now, Aragorn," I said lightly, sitting up with some help from Gimli. They had laid me on a boulder as soon as I had passed out, and I still could feel my cheeks flush from the embarrassment of fainting—from an old wound, no less!

"There is no need to worry. Can we set off now?" I asked, looking around. I was not sure where they were going to go next.

The three of them stared at me.

"Set off? Now?"

"Now look here, lassie—"

"Calen, you must rest—"

I gritted my teeth and frowned at them. "As you can see, I am perfectly fine now! If you really wish for me to heal, then it would probably be best if we set off for the nearest town to get supplies."

Gandalf got up and chose this moment to intervene. Walking over, he said firmly, "Calen is right. We cannot delay any longer. As long as we can travel, we must go."

Meeting our gazes, he enunciated his words loudly and clearly. "The situation is dire. We must travel to Edoras with all speed."

Reluctantly, Aragorn got up, the others following his lead. I shot a smile at Gandalf and got up slowly, propping myself up with my elbows. As soon as I could stand, I leaned against a tree, feeling my face drain of colour. Aragorn was right, I had probably over-exerted myself with all that running and trekking.

Gandalf turned with a swish of his robes and began marching away, using his staff to tap against the ground occasionally.

"One stage of your journey is over, another begins." he tossed over his shoulder at us.

"Did you say we were going to Edoras, Gandalf?" I ventured tentatively. After all, he was my savior (in a way), not to mention the fact that I had never spoken directly to him before. He was the White Wizard, strong and powerful, and although I didn't exactly know his origins, I could not help but trust him. Somehow, I believed that he was good, and on our side.

Gandalf nodded. "Yes, Calen."

"Edoras? That is no short distance!" Gimli mumbled, stomping his feet loudly. He was holding my arm, once again taking the role of my supporter, but I wriggled my arm out of his grip little by little.

"We hear of trouble in Rohan," Aragorn said concernedly, stepping forward to talk to Gandalf. "It goes ill with the King."

"Yes, and it will not be easily cured." Gandalf ceased in his steps to turn and glance at Aragorn.

"Then we have run all this way for nothing!" Gimli complained. "Are we to leave those poor Hobbits here in this horrid, dark, dank, tree-infested—"

The trees drew themselves up and groaned loudly, conveying their feelings to Gimli. Upon hearing this, Gimli stopped abruptly, his eyes startling and his words fading into nothing. I could not help but laugh at the expression on his face.

"Ah!" Gimli gave a slight exclamation and he dropped my arm to wrap his hand around his trusty axe, spinning around in a small circle. His feet disturbed the floor of dried leaves and created a flurry of leaves flying up into the air. "I mean, charming, quite charming forest."

It was all in all an amusing sight.

Gandalf turned around, and I noticed for the first time that he had draped a nondescript grey cloak over his white robes, dulling the faint light he shone from within. I could not help but feel slightly relieved, that would ease my eyesight a lot more every time I looked at him.

"It was more than mere chance that brought Merry and Pippin to Fangorn." Gandalf declared solemnly, and I smiled at the two names. Merry and Pippin? I had heard Gandalf mention them before! Such adorable names.

"A great power has been sleeping here for many long years." Gandalf nodded. I looked at Legolas to see what he made of this queer statement, and as I watched him tilting up his head to look at the leafy canopy ahead, I could not help but follow suit. Nothing seemed amiss.

"The coming of Merry and Pippin will be like the falling of small stones that starts an avalanche in the mountains." Gandalf smiled knowingly.

"In one thing you have not changed, dear friend." Aragorn smiled.

"Hmm?" Gandalf bent his head closer to Aragorn's, and Aragorn leaned forward.

"You still speak in riddles."

They all laughed merrily, and my elven ears were keen enough that I could hear the difference—Gandalf's was deep and hearty, like an old grandpa laughing at the antics of his grandchild; Aragorn's was a light, amused chuckle; Gimli's was deep and booming; and finally, Legolas' was light and familiar, silky and smooth.

I stood watching them for a moment, letting their laughter wash over me. Of course, I could not help but feel excluded, and the thought of leaving them weighed in my mind heavier than ever.

This was _really _not the time to think about it, but yet, as I watched them make cheerful banter my mind could not help but keep drifting back to what I would have to do. We had only met a couple of days ago, and I would have to leave them eventually to continue my travels, but yet my heart broke at the thought of leaving them. I didn't know exactly what they were up to, but they were my_ friends_, and I really did not know what to do...

I gave a small sigh, and Legolas, hearing me, slipped out of the conversation and looked at me curiously. Upon meeting his gaze, I forced a smile and shrugged, as if to ask: why are you looking at me?

He turned back to the rest and I held back a sigh of relief.

* * *

**A/N: **I thought this would be a good place to end it, because *wink* the next chapter is going to be in Legolas' POV! Yay :)

That aside, I hope this chapter isn't over-dramatic, what with Calen fainting and stuff. I'm no expert on injuries, but I figured that if you over-exerted yourself after sustaining a pretty bad wound, you would probably pass out as well.


	6. The Golden Hall of Meduseld

**Disclaimer: **Lord of the Rings belongs to Tolkien.

Thank you to my lovely reviewers! Have a cookie each! *passes out virtual cookies*

* * *

Legolas' POV

I could not help but glance back at Calen as we walked steadily through the forest. She was so pale! When we had first found her injured, her complexion had been as such, but recently she had been looking fine. And now, she appeared worse for wear.

I shook my head and pushed all thoughts away from my mind, focusing only on the task ahead. We had to get to Edoras for the King's mind had been overthrown by Saruman, and only Gandalf could help him.

I tilted my head up to scan the trees that grew high above our heads, feeling a strong connection toward them. They spoke in deep, hoarse murmurs, and their voices, strange as they were, soothed me greatly. My companions were all silent, so for a moment the forest was submerged in the sounds of nature, without voices breaking the tranquility. My sharp ears picked up the occasional rustle, the small sweep of the wind, and our steadfast footsteps as we followed Gandalf's confident lead.

Finally, we pushed through the thick undergrowth and emerged out into a small field. The Plains of Rohan stretched seamlessly out, seemingly merging with the dark mass of trees that was Fangorn Forest. Being a Wood-Elf, I felt a small pang as we stepped out of the forest.

Now that we were out in the elements, the wind whipped around us, ruffling our hair, and the sun shone down on us, casting golden light on our skin. To my joy, I spotted Arod cantering up to me as soon as we had exited the forest, and I reached out my hand, caressing his flank and murmuring in Elvish.

Calen walked up to Aragorn as Hasufel arrived, whickering gently, and the sun cast auburn hues on her dark hair as she stroked the horse.

I smiled affectionately as the horse reared up and attempted to head-butt her. Laughing, she patted Hasufel's head, saying something to Aragorn that even I could not pick up, she spoke so softly.

Gandalf stopped on the outskirts of the field, drawing himself up to his full height and pursing his lips, before letting loose a shrill whistle. After a moment, he gave yet another whistle, but in a different tune. The sound reverberated, lingering in the air long after he had stopped whistling, and I watched curiously, wanting to know what he was doing.

Then suddenly, there was an answering neigh and I stared out into the distance to see a pure white horse galloping up. I did not know where he had come from, for all I knew, he could have appeared out of thin air and I would not have been surprised, given the extraordinary events that had happened today. As the horse drew closer, I could appraise his body closer, and I realised…

No, it could not be.

Could it?

I barely noticed when Calen sidled up to me, tentatively tapping me on the shoulder. As I turned, I saw that her entire face was lit up in amazement.

"Isn't that… A _Mearas_?" she asked excitedly. Her voice was, at first, lowered in a disbelieving whisper, but as she spoke it grew louder.

My realisation had been confirmed by her, and I nodded, letting a grin spread across my face.

"That is one of the Mearas, unless my eyes are cheated by some spell." I confirmed, sweeping my gaze over the lovely animal. It was not particularly big or strong, but it was lean and healthy, having a fluffy coat of hair and a long, majestic mane. Its eyes were the colour of pebbles, dark grey, and they looked friendly and warm as the horse blinked, tossing its head.

"Shadowfax," Gandalf proclaimed proudly, extending his hand. The horse bowed its head, snorting, as if in reply to its name. "He's the lord of all horses, and he's been my friend through many dangers." Gandalf stepped forward and stroked Shadowfax's flank fondly, running his hand over the smooth coat.

Stepping back from Shadowfax, he smiled and said, "Let us go."

I gave Shadowfax one last glance before helping Gimli onto Arod. Aragorn was helping to boost Calen onto Hasufel while she shot insults at him, and I gave her a slight shake of my head, sighing at her stubbornness. Eventually though, she was seated on the horse, albeit scowling at Aragorn.

I chuckled to myself as I swung myself up in front of Gimli, grabbing Arod's reins. I did not normally ride with saddles, reins and the like, but I did know how to use them, though I did not like it. Somehow, they made me feel restricted.

I glanced back at Calen again; worried that she might faint again. After she had passed out, she had not been looking too well, and I was naturally concerned, she being one of my companions.

She looked tired, and she had her arms wrapped loosely around Aragorn as her gaze darted around, drinking in the sights around her. Catching me looking at her, she frowned and cocked an eyebrow at me.

I turned away hastily. Much as I was concerned, I did not want her to think that I harbored any fond feelings for her—because I certainly did not.

* * *

The embers of a dying fire glowed softly, the flames popping and crackling as I poked at the fire with a small stick. My mind was wandering, without any clear thought, and I shuffled my feet absentmindedly, tucking them beneath my body.

"Can't sleep?" Calen's soft voice startled me out of my daze, but I did not turn around.

"Yes. What about you?" I questioned.

There were a few light steps as she drew closer to me, and I looked up at her as her gaze flitted toward the spot next to me, asking for permission to sit there.

"Go ahead." I nodded.

She lowered herself down onto the ground, her fingers brushing away the dirt on the spot, and I heard her hold back a wince as she sat down. Once she was seated and had made herself comfortable, however, a tense silence descended upon us.

"Why can't you sleep? Does something worry you?" Calen broke the silence again, drawing up her knees to her body and resting her chin on them. Her hair was loose and wavy from the elven braids she normally wore, and she turned to look at me.

I gave a small sigh. So many things were on my mind now—this Quest especially. I worried whether I would see_ Ada_ (father), Mirkwood or my friends again, or whether I would even survive this journey…

No, I chided myself; this was no way to think. You must think positively.

I turned towards Calen, meeting her dark eyes. She was staring at me expectantly, waiting for me to answer. I opened my mouth, and realised that I wanted to pour out all my woes to her, although we were not very close yet, but I reminded myself that she was just a mere traveler, not involved in the Quest, and that I was bound to secrecy.

I closed my mouth, struggling to find the words. "Much weighs on my mind," I conceded, exhaling. "But if I were to pour out all my woes to you, you would soon be wearied." Giving her a smile to cover up my dark mood, I returned my attention to the fire, picking up my previously abandoned stick.

Silence once again fell onto us, but yet she stayed there, her body still and unmoving. I continued to poke at the fire, trying futilely to stir it up, but in reality I was just pretending to be occupied so that I did not have to answer her question.

But there was only so long I could poke, like a little child, at the fire—which was obviously burnt out. Resigning myself to my fate, I turned back to her, a carefully phrased and thought over reply on the tip of my tongue.

Calen's eyes were open but glazed over, and she leaned her back against a nearby tree, her hair ruffling in the breeze. A few strands of hair whipped over her face, obscuring part of her cheek as she slept, deep in the realm of elvish dreams. Slowly, I reached out and brushed the fall of hair away from her face, then removed my hand as if I had been burnt, turning away and preparing to retire for the night.

* * *

We had been riding for several hours on the second day when Gandalf stopped abruptly. We were nearing the capital of Rohan, Edoras, already, and I could see the tiny outline of the Hall of Meduseld in the distance.

We all gazed out at it for a moment, our horses panting and stomping their hooves, when Gandalf said solemnly, "Edoras and the Golden Hall of Meduseld. There dwells Théoden, King of Rohan, whose mind is overthrown. Saruman's hold over King Théoden is now very strong."

I glanced to the side where Aragorn was seated on Hasufel, frowning heavily. When he turned to look at me, his eyes were filled with worry.

_Do not worry, mellon nin. _I tried to convey with my eyes. _All will be well._

Aragorn read the look in my eyes and shrugged slightly, his mouth curving into a grim smile.

"Be careful of what you say. Do not look for welcome here." Gandalf stated, digging his heels into Shadowfax's flank and spurring him onwards.

Quickly, I followed his lead, urging Arod on with a nudge and a few Elvish murmurs. At the sudden movement, Gimli grabbed at my tunic, trying to keep his balance.

"Laddie! A little warning next time, please!" he huffed indignantly.

I held back a smirk and replied coolly, "If you wish it so, my friend."

Sometimes, Gimli was really amusing when he was not shooting insults at my kin or my home, which he had often called, "an insult of a cave", "dark and ugly" and "dank and stinky". Though, considering that my father had imprisoned his father in said home, I could not fault him very much.

As the horses galloped up the small hill leading up to the Golden Hall, I spotted a figure, clad in gold and white, standing at the edge of the steps. It was a female, that I could tell, and her long golden hair whipped around her as she watched us.

I frowned. Who was she?

There was a sudden, especially strong gust of wind, and with a tearing sound, one of the flags ripped off the pole, floating downwards and drifting onto the floor. It landed behind Arod, and I only had time to give it one hasty glance before the horse cantered forward and demanded my attention.

But still it weighed heavily on my mind, and I wondered if it was an omen of what was to come.

In front of the Hall were two flagpoles, the flags waving merrily in the breeze, a stark contrast to the villages we had been travelling through. The village people had been dressed in full black, hoods and cloaks shielding their faces, and they looked haggard and worn. Not to mention the fact that they had been staring at us intently, suspicion etched in their faces, and watching our every movement, especially me and Calen—I supposed that most of them had not seen Elves before, but there was no need to _stare._

"You'll find more cheer in a graveyard." Gimli commented under his breath, and I could not help but agree.

When we had reached the stairs leading up to the Hall, we got off the horses, leaving them there to rest for a moment. I worried that they would run wild, so I commanded them to stay with a few soothing Elvish words, and they butted my arm with their heads, as if agreeing to what I had told them.

Smiling in satisfaction, I dropped their reins and patted them on their heads, before sidling in next to Aragorn and Gandalf. Calen was on the other side of Aragorn—she seemed to have made fast friends with him. Ah, well, that was Estel, always the warm and friendly one. He always made acquaintance easily, but his friendship was invaluable.

I was glad that he was by my side on this Quest, tremendously glad.

As we ascended the steps, the wooden doors to the Hall burst open and a row of guards emerged, frowns on their faces. In the lead was a guard with ginger hair, who would have a rather pleasant face had he not looked so displeased.

Beside me, Gandalf looked up and smiled.

"Ah." he sighed jovially. He seemed to recognise the guard.

"I cannot allow you before Théoden King so armed, Gandalf Greyhame." The guard said sternly.

Gandalf raised his head further, his previously gladdened expression melting into a slightly confused one.

"By order of… Gríma Wormtongue." The guard said in a somewhat clarifying tone, his words faltering slightly as he spoke the name. After a pause, he followed this with a brisk nod, perhaps to assent his words and show that he meant business.

Gandalf turned towards us, giving us a nod, his face resigned.

Two guards stepped forward to retrieve our weapons, and I frowned at the thought of giving up my bow—specially given to me from the Lady of the Light, and crafted by the Galadhrim! Letting a soft sigh escape my lips, I reached for my sheathed twin blades, grasping them by the hilts and twirling them so that I ended up gripping the blades and proffering the guards the hilts.

Aragorn handed over his swords without comment, drawing out his blades silently.

I could hear Calen murmuring under her breath as she passed over first her bow and quiver, followed by a small dagger she kept by her hip. Then, she hesitated as she gripped the hilt of her sword, reluctance showing clearly on her face.

The guard in front of her held his hand out expectantly, and with a twist of her lips, she offered her unsheathed sword to him.

To my surprise, Gimli handed over his axe without saying anything, though when I glanced back at him I had to hold back a chuckle at the look on his face.

When all this had been completed, Gandalf leaned back, an expectant smile on his wizened face.

The guard eyed the white staff he held in his hand, saying, "Your staff."

I tensed, waiting to see how Gandalf handled this situation. Thankfully, we were saved when he shifted his weight about, saying in a miserable tone, "Oh. You would not part an old man from his walking stick?"

The guard weighed this for a moment, giving Gandalf a knowing look before turning away.

Gandalf shot a wink at Aragorn, taking my arm for "support", and Calen grinned.

I breathed a sigh of relief.

* * *

**A/N: **I received a comment saying that this was mostly a repetition of the movie, and I would like to take this opportunity to apologise. Because Gandalf, Aragorn, Gimli and Legolas were all rushing to Edoras, there wasn't much time for interaction-as Gandalf said, "We must travel to Edoras with all speed." So sorry if it was a little too plot-heavy for the first few chapters, and I promise it will get better soon! :D

Also, this chapter was hard to write (although I took a pretty short time to update, I spent quite some time on this) so I apologise if it's too short! Writing in Legolas' POV was harder than I thought. ._.

That aside, I hope you enjoy this chapter (finally some decent Legolas-Calen interaction!) and please review! I would love to hear what you all think :)


	7. Théoden King

**Disclaimer: **Nothing belongs to me. Except my OC, and I'll gladly exchange her for Legolas anytime.

**A/N: **Back in Calen's POV, I'm afraid.

* * *

I grinned as Gandalf took Legolas' arm, giving Aragorn a smirk as we walked forward towards the open doors. He shrugged imperceptibly, returning an equally knowing smile before arranging his features into a perfectly serious face.

I had to hold back a snigger as I swiveled my head slightly to face front, my eyes scanning the room I was entering.

The Golden Hall was not what I expected at all.

For one, I had thought that the hall would be bright and breezy, but on the contrary, it was dark and gloomy. The big oak doors had intricate gold designs on them and they were beautiful – I would have enjoyed admiring them had the whole room not been so dreary.

The guard leading us into the room stopped, giving a short bow, before stepping unobtrusively to the side.

There was a small throne in the front of the room, with an old, haggard man sitting in it. He had bushels of snowy white hair, frizzy and settling in a cloud around his face, and his blue eyes looked watery and drained of colour. He sat in his throne, slumping forward, and his eyes fixed on a spot in the air in front of him, vacant. Wrinkles and blemishes marked his skin, and I cringed at the whole sight of him.

So this was Théoden King.

I spotted a movement in the corner of the room, and I noticed a man, dressed fully in robes of black, turn his head and whisper into Théoden's ear, "My lord, Gandalf the Grey is coming."

Behind us, the doors slammed with a resounding crash, and I whipped my head around, seeing Legolas and Aragorn do the same thing, and saw that a couple of guards were bolting the doors.

My stomach twisted.

To my right, a group of sinister-looking guards were following our steps, slinking forward and ready—I supposed—to fight us.

They looked strong, but I was quick and agile. I had not seen my companions fight before, but from the looks of them, I trusted that they were skilled in that area. If we were to go up in hand-to-hand combat with these men, we would win. But if they were armed…

"He is a herald of woe," I heard the man in front whisper again, and my muscles tensed. Who was he to say that we were not welcome? He must be a spy of Saruman, placed here to ensure that Théoden would not be cured and to keep things in Rohan running the way Saruman wanted.

This must be the Gríma Wormtongue the guard mentioned before. No wonder he had sounded so bitter while saying the name.

"The courtesy of your hall is somewhat lessened of late, Théoden King!" Gandalf called out. I noticed that he had dropped all his pretenses of being an old man and was now walking without support, gripping his staff in his hand. The grey cloak he wore was now completely covering his white clothing.

"He is not welcome," Gríma spat, a malevolent hiss in his voice. I glared at him furiously. That conniving fool! If he wanted to kick us out, he should do so himself, and not use his puppet Théoden to do it!

Théoden raised his head wearily, as if it was too heavy for his body, and he drew himself outright before saying, "Why… should I welcome you, Gandalf Stormcrow?" When he was done, he slumped back into his seat, looking drained, but he turned his head toward Gríma, asking him for confirmation. For confirmation! I hissed between my teeth.

"A just question, my liege." Gríma nodded and stood up with a swish of his robes, walking towards us. "_Late_ is the hour in which this conjurer chooses to appear. Lathspell I name him. Ill news is in ill guest." he said, widening his eyes and staring at us.

He had stark pale skin with a grey undertone to it, as well as large blue eyes that looked watered-down and greasy black hair that he slicked back. I wrinkled my nose. After sweeping his gaze over all of us, he turned his eyes on me.

"A lady Elf! What a surprise." Apparently, since he was in control of Rohan currently, he thought he could get away with this. Levelling my gaze to meet his, I said tightly, "I would—"

"I think she would appreciate it if you stopped looking at her. In fact, I would appreciate it very much indeed as well." The snap in Legolas' voice made us both turn, and the surprise and shock in Gríma's face was priceless.

Regaining his composure quickly, Gríma spat, "Well, well, what is this?" Just when he was opening his mouth to say some sniping remark, Gandalf intervened, snapping, "Be silent! Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth. I have not passed through fire and death to bandy crooked words with a witless worm."

Well said.

Gandalf raised his staff, exposing the white top for Gríma to see, and the shocked expression on Gríma's face was consumed by a fearful one.

"His staff," he moaned, backing away. "I _told_ you to take his staff!"

Immediately, the guards at the side rushed towards us, and I punched one that aimed for my face, ducking down and then swinging up to connect my fist with his nose. It met with a satisfying crunch, but the exaggerated movement sent a course of pain running through me, and I leant back up, wincing.

Around me rushed even more guards, but my companions took them down with ease. All I could see for a moment was a blur of skin on skin, followed by grunts and a body falling to the ground.

"Calen!" Legolas turned and gestured behind me. I whipped my head around, only to meet with an exceptionally burly man, who wrapped his arms around my torso. I struggled frantically, but his grip was firm, and smiling manically, he raised his fist and socked me in my stomach.

I groaned, doubling over for a moment and my breath came in frenzied gasps as I held back the pain. I dimly registered Gandalf's voice saying, "Théoden, son of Théngel. Too long have you sat in the shadows."

Yet another fist hit my stomach with strength, and I jolted. It seemed as if this man was eager to torture me and not just take me out.

Gritting my teeth against the pain, I wriggled out of the man's grip by socking _him_ in the stomach, hard and furious. Thrusting up my leg up high so that I kicked him hard enough, I sent him flipping over, and he landed with an 'oof'. Quickly, I kicked him again, before dealing another punch to another nearby guard. I grabbed the arm of a guard who tried to sneak up on me and twisted it before dropping him onto the floor.

All this had been completed in mere seconds, but pain still coursed through me as I massaged my stomach.

I looked around. The fight was dying down, but I noticed a guard creeping up on Legolas as he stood there, watching Gandalf. I was just about to alert him when Legolas nonchalantly raised a fist and punched the person right in the face without even looking back.

I had to admit, I was _quite_ impressed.

Legolas turned, spying me, and gave me a smirk that stole the very breath from my lungs. I felt colour flush my cheeks as I turned away, surveying the bodies on the floor.

I spotted Gríma writhing on the ground behind Legolas, and I made to rush over quickly—that man knew dangerously too much. If he escaped, it would be bad for us.

But Gimli darted over with an odd swiftness for a Dwarf, and beat me to the chase, slamming his booted foot onto Gríma's chest and pinning him to the ground.

"I would stay still if I were you," he growled, staring menacingly into Gríma's face. I gave Gimli a fleeting smile before turning my attention to Gandalf, who was now speaking.

"Harken to me!" Gandalf said crisply. I heard the soft footsteps of other guards approaching, but knew that they were merely concerned for their King, and so did not turn around.

Théoden raised his head and muttered something that sounded like a "no".

Gandalf paused for a moment, slightly thrown off guard, then raised his hand, curling his fingers. I imagined that he was squeezing his eyes shut in concentration.

"I release you from the spell." Gandalf uttered, his voice lowering to a whisper.

For a moment, I really thought that it was working, before Théoden raised his head, his pale blue eyes crinkling at the sides in laughter. He parted his lips and a laugh bubbled out, followed by another, and another. His laughter was at first weak, but it grew in strength and volume as he continued to laugh, sagging sideways on his throne.

I frowned and exchanged a look with Aragorn. Was that Saruman's laughter I heard?

"You have no power here, Gandalf the _Grey."_ Théoden paused in his laughter to say, choking out the words. Gandalf straightened up at his words, and Théoden—Saruman—had just continued to cackle when Gandalf shrugged off his cloak, revealing his white robes. The cloak fell to the floor in a puddle of its own fabric, pooling around Gandalf.

Théoden's laughter ceased immediately, and he let out a small scream, jerking backwards into his throne.

"I will draw you, Saruman, as poison is drawn from a wound." Gandalf stated firmly, spreading his arms wide.

He then clasped his staff tightly in his hands, pointing it straight at Théoden. As he did so, Théoden jolted in his seat and flew back against the throne, his hands shooting out to grasp the arms. He let out a groan, seemingly struggling to keep his grip on the throne.

Hurried footsteps sounded behind me, and I whipped around to notice a young woman with long golden tresses rushing forward. Quickly, I reached out to grab her arm, at the same time that Aragorn bounded forward and grasped her other arm. Smiling at him, I let go of her, and he hissed, "Wait."

Théoden trembled in his seat, his wizened hands gripping the chair so hard that his knuckles turned wide. "If I go," he grit out, "Théoden dies."

Gandalf raised his staff again, causing Théoden to shoot back yet again.

"You did not kill me, you will not kill him." Gandalf said firmly. Théoden's head jerked back and his eyes rolled. He—Saruman—was visibly in pain, yet he refused to give up.

With a burst of effort, Théoden forced his head back up, his seat creaking loudly as he shifted around. His mouth moved for a moment but no words came out, and finally, he said painfully, "Rohan is mine."

Gandalf shot him back again and cried, "Be gone." Théoden's head rolled back for a moment, and he said nothing, causing me to believe that Gandalf had cured him already.

But no. Théoden lunged out of his seat, screaming maniacally, hands curled into claws, but Gandalf forced him back with a jerk of his staff, and Théoden landed heavily back in his seat, panting.

Gandalf leaned back, his hair and clothes slightly disheveled.

With a gasp, the golden-haired lady escaped from Aragorn's grip, rushing forward to help the King, and she caught him just before he fell, helping him upright again.

Who was she? She wasn't dressed shabbily like the villagers I had seen, and had she been a villager she would not have taken the initiative to help the King anyway. But she didn't have a crown or tiara to signify that she was royalty, either…

She grasped the King by the shoulders, her white dress flowing out behind her, and the King morphed before my eyes.

His previously snowy hair darkened into a light shade of blonde, similar to the lady's, and the frizz disappeared, the hair now tamed and smooth. The blemishes on his pale skin faded away into naught but a few lines, and his blue eyes opened, revealing a clear shade of blue. His eyes were startled and his lips parted, his breath heaving as he looked around and tried to get his bearings.

Slowly, he turned his head, and his eyes met with the lady's. There was a flicker of recognition on his face, and a smile spread across her face, making her look endearing. The King stared at her for a couple more moments, his mouth agape, before murmuring, "I know your face."

She pressed her lips together, probably keeping her joy at bay, and her grey eyes swam with sparkling tears.

"Éowyn." he uttered, a wondering look on his face. Her smile, restrained at first, now flowered into an ear-to-ear smile of genuine joy. I could not help smiling at their obvious happiness. "Éowyn."

Gandalf stepped back, and from my point of view, I could see a satisfied yet weary look etched onto his face.

The sound attracted Théoden's and Éowyn's attention, and they turned as one, swiveling around to meet Gandalf's eyes. Eowyn's smile remained on her face, while Théoden stared up at Gandalf almost disbelievingly.

"Gandalf?" he croaked.

"Breathe the free air again, my friend." Gandalf said, looking Théoden over and nodding.

Théoden stood up slightly awkwardly with the help of Éowyn, and once he had gotten to his feet, he swayed slightly, as if not used to standing—which, come to think of it, was probably true. I had no idea how long he had been under Saruman's spell.

Everyone bowed their heads respectfully, but Théoden merely swept his gaze over us, musing, "Dark have been my dreams of late." As soon as the words left his mouth, he lifted his hand, once gnarled and wizened, now large and strong—albeit a little grimy. He examined it curiously, almost as if he was not sure if it actually belonged to him.

"Your fingers would remember their old strength better if they grasped a sword." Gandalf advised. He then turned and gestured to the guard. "Háma."

Right on cue, Háma brought an elegantly crafted sword forward. It did not have the ethereal beauty and grace that Elvish weapons possessed, but it was beautiful nonetheless. It was ornately crafted, with the hilt in the shape of a heart, adorned with several patterns and swirls.

Théoden hesitated, and from the back view I had of Háma, I was supposing that he had an extremely apprehensive look on his face. Háma's muscles were tense as he offered the sword to the King, and I held my breath for a moment, feeling the tension in the room choke me.

But then, Théoden reached out his hand and gripped the dull gold hilt, pausing for a moment to feel out the weapon, before wrapping his hand around it and sliding the blade out with a scrape. He looked it up and down, again with wonder on his face—I guessed all this felt very new to him. Then suddenly, he paused in his thorough scan of the blade, his eyes lowering and fixating on a spot on the sword.

He then turned and glared at Gríma, who had begun to shake in fear.

"Throw him out!" Théoden commanded, standing up from his seat. Still gripping his sword, he advanced towards Gimli, barely registering us and the others in the hall. Slowly, the people begun to file out of the hall, walking down the steps and back into their homes, while Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, Gandalf, Éowyn and I retreated just outside the hall.

A couple of guards grabbed Gríma by the shoulders forcefully, dragging him from the room despite his repeated pleads and screams, and flung him out onto the steps outside the Golden Hall. Gríma tumbled down the steps, finally landing on the stone floor. Scrambling upright, he used one of his hands to support his weight while beseeching Théoden, "I have only _ever_ served you, my lord!"

I scoffed at this obvious lie.

"Your leechcraft would have me crawling on all fours like a beast!" Théoden growled, continuing to walk forward.

"Send me not from your side!" Gríma cried, backing away as Théoden drew ever closer.

Théoden did not deign him with a verbal answer, but instead raised his sword, preparing to swing it down and cut Gríma's head off. I squeezed my eyes shut. As much as I hated Gríma, I did not want to see a human life being taken away like that.

"No my lord!" My eyes flew open at the sound of Aragorn's voice, almost hoarse with panic. Everyone was staring at the two figures—Aragorn and Théoden—struggling with each other, even Gríma . No one spoke, and it was so quiet that I could detect Aragorn's hushed whisper. "Let him go."

Aragorn's voice grew harsh even as Théoden stared at him disbelievingly. "Enough blood has been spilt on his account."

Théoden sagged, as if relenting, and Gríma raised his head hopefully. Extending his hand, Aragorn looked at Gríma, but Gríma spat on it and got up, staggering off and pushing away the crowd that had gathered.

"Get out of my way!"

Aragorn raised his hand and inspected it with a twist of his lips, but at this moment, Háma yelled, "Hail Théoden King!"

Slowly, the crowd crouched down, lowering their heads. Beside me, Legolas and Gimli bowed their heads, so I quickly followed suit.

Aragorn, who was standing beside Théoden, also got down and bowed.

Théoden cast a dismissive glance at the bowed heads and turned. As he did, I could make out the thoughtful expression on his face.

"Where is Théodred?" he asked. "Where is my son?"

* * *

Théoden had been very kind to throw us a welcome feast though his son, Théodred, the prince of Rohan was dead and he was in mourning.

However sad his people were for the Prince's death, they were also overjoyed at their King's return, and they chatted loudly and bustled around, drinking ale and stuffing themselves with food.

I sat alone at a spare table, looking forlornly at my plate heaped high with Rohirric delicacies. Gimli had prepared it for me, insisting that I needed to "regain my strength", but soon after he had disappeared off with Legolas to Eru knew where.

I rejected their invitation to follow them, for I had needed some thinking space, but after being in their company for three days, I missed them—Aragorn's quiet, reassuring presence and ready smiles, Gimli's jokes and preposterous antics, even Legolas' presence had warmed me, as quiet as he may be.

Sighing, I picked at the food on my plate, nibbling occasionally when the urge hit me. I had requested to stay alone to think, but yet, in the hustle and bustle, I could not even hear myself think.

There was a chorus of uproarious laughter from the table next to me, and the men clanged their mugs together noisily, patting one another on the backs.

I sighed, getting up, and left my plate abandoned.

I wandered outside, feeling the sun warm up my skin, and decided to visit the villages. While they hadn't looked very welcoming when we had passed though previously, I supposed that, now that their King had been released from the spell, they would be more open to the presence of strangers in the village.

Nodding to myself, I bounded down the steps and walked into the village, looking around for someone friendly who I could chat with, or perhaps just a small spot where I could sit and think.

I had been to Rohan before, some twenty or thirty years ago, when I was out travelling every nook and cranny of Middle-Earth. I had managed to make some friends along the way, but we always lost touch. If I ever returned to the town, all I would find was their children or grandchildren anyway, so what was the point?

Even though I was an Elf, the ways of my people, imprinted upon me when I was a child, had begun to fade with every passing year. As I visited more places and more places, my Elvish cultures begun to merge—more often than not—with the cultures of Men. Due to my kin's enmity with Dwarves, I had never visited any places that Dwarves inhabited yet, and somehow I also had not been to the Shire before, though I had heard of it. The closest I had been to the Shire was Bree, and that was how I knew of Hobbits, though I did not recognise them instantly.

Men, I had learnt, were friendly and open, easy to get along with, but if I got too close to them, it would only be heartbreak for both of us, because one of us would have to leave eventually—I to travel more places, and the Man to depart for death.

So I kept my distance, being friendly enough but not overly cold, knowing them well enough to appreciate their presence but not break down when I had to leave.

That was why I was so scared. Among the companions I had met, only Legolas and Gandalf were immortal. Aragorn and Gimli were not, but yet I had already grown so close to them… it was so risky, so very risky. I knew that I could continue staying here in Rohan—it had changed much since the last time I was here, and I would love to learn any new ways of life or cultures, but the companions that had rescued me… no, I couldn't get too close to them.

But it was so very hard when I felt such a strong connection to them. Only three days and the thought of leaving them for more of my travels broke my heart.

I didn't know what to do, or what I wanted to do.

I was so lost in my thoughts that I managed to walk into a solid presence. As soon as I met with him, though, I quickly sidestepped with the agility of my race, mumbling an embarrassed "sorry" before looking up.

"Calen? What are you doing here? I thought you were at the feast."

I looked up into Legolas' face, bemused for a second. "I was… I… Wait, I thought you were off with Gimli? Where is he?"

He smirked, and my heart fluttered a little, feeling my face warm from his close proximity. "He saw a marketplace stall selling "good" ale and he wanted to buy some." He shrugged. "I wasn't interested."

I laughed, taking a step back. "That sounds like Gimli."

He laughed as well, though it did not sound quite as strained as mine, and several people walking by turned to stare at us. "Come to think of it, why is he taking so long?" He turned his head to see if the stout figure of Gimli was going to approach any time soon, and I took this moment to rearrange my features into my usual neutral expression.

Sure enough, Gimli came toddling down the street, holding a barrel of ale that was nearly twice his size. Upon seeing Legolas, he grunted, "Let's go, laddie!"

"Aren't you a little laden?" I asked teasingly, stepping forward with my arms outstretched.

Gimli startled a little; clearly he had not been expecting me to be here. "Oh, hello, Calen! What are you doing here? I thought you wanted some alone time…"

I gestured at Legolas'—yet again—smirking face. "I ran into him." Waving my hand dismissively, I questioned, "Do you need some help?"

"No, no! You underestimate the strength of Dwarves, lass! Typical of an Elf!" Mumbling and grumbling, Gimli continued to waddle down the cobblepath.

Legolas immediately set off after him.

The time had flown, now the sun was setting. The sky turned rosy with shades of orange and pink, the occasional lavender tinting the crystalline sky. In the falling dark, Gimli's fiery hair glowed orange, while Legolas' long blond hair shone golden. Watching them laugh and talk, an ache grew in my heart.

It was moments like these that made me the most afraid.

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**A/N:** I would love to hear what you all think! Too little interaction? Too plot-heavy?

Reviews, whether good or bad, are welcome! I know this isn't the best chapter, but I wanted to churn out something for you all before I start school again—it's the last week of my school holidays.

Thank you for all the wonderful reviews—I'm so glad you all like it! Keep them coming!


	8. Sleepless Nights

**Disclaimer: **I _wish _Legolas was mine.

**A/N: **Thank you all so, so much for all the support! I really appreciate all the reviews, follows and favorites.

This chapter is mostly dialogue. Sorry! Also, it's really short. Sorry again!

* * *

I couldn't sleep.

The sheets that were neatly tucked over me were smooth and silky, fit for royalty—or in this case, _guests_ of royalty. After being out in the elements for so long, sleeping on hard grounds and the occasional scratchy bed when I stayed in one of the town's inns—this felt good. The fabric certainly wasn't as smooth or soft as the elven ones, or at least what I could remember of it, but it was comfortable, cool against my warm skin. I had thrown the windows open, and the curtains fluttered in the breeze, drawing my eyes to them. The silvery moonlight filtered through the gap in the windowpane, but it wasn't too glaring to my eyes, and I should have been able to sleep perfectly well, especially considering my physical exertion the past few days.

And yet, I couldn't.

I flipped over, tossing the blankets slightly so that I could have space to move, and buried my head into my pillow, closing my eyes tightly. The sheets, cool as they were, soon grew warm with my body heat, and I flung them off, hating their oppressiveness. Sitting up, I pushed back my long hair and tucked it behind my ears, swinging my legs off the bed and wrapping a cloak around my undershirt.

Easing open the door carefully so that I would not disturb the others, I slipped out of the room, moving on stealthy feet to the end of the floor, where there was a little staircase. It was tucked away in a small corner, and I wouldn't have seen it or known where it lead to had Eowyn not mentioned that there was a balcony at the top of the hall.

I climbed up the stairs, relishing the feeling of walking without experiencing any pain—as soon as Théoden had been cured of Saruman's spell, I had been sent to the healers—with just a _little _resistance. It wasn't my fault that both Gimli and Aragorn had to drag me to the healers' quarters. But I had to admit, it felt really good to be moving properly again. Edoras' healers, as well as my own healing mechanism, had done a good job.

Emerging at the top of the stairs, I took a step out and a chilly wind swept over me, leaving a trail of goosebumps over my skin. Wrapping my cloak around me more securely, I crossed the balcony, leaning forward on the banister and propping my elbows up on it. It was like looking out from a tree, except it was on a sturdier, level ground, and it reminded me of Imladris, where the houses were built on the hills and I could look out every day and see the beautiful view.

Up here, the wind whipped at my hair, tugging it out from where it rested behind my ears, and I could feel my face flush from the cold. It felt exhilarating somehow, and so much better than the bedroom King Théoden had provided me. I supposed that I was already used to being out and exposed to the elements, and not cooped up in a room.

Below the Golden Hall, I could make out the shapes and outlines of huts and houses that made up Rohan's villages. Most of the houses were dark and shadowy, but a few lights still twinkled merrily. I knew that the lights probably came from a candle stump by the window—I had seen many humans do that before.

A light step sounded right behind me, and I whirled around, my hand flying to the place where I normally kept my sword. Then I remembered that I had left my weapons in the bedroom, locked in a chest of drawers, save for a small dagger in my boot. I paused a moment, wondering whether it was worth it to lean down and try to get my dagger.

"Can't sleep?" Legolas' musical voice sounded amusedly, and I exhaled.

"You—" I was about to say that he had startled me before realising that the phrase he had just spoken was strangely familiar.

_I looked over to where Legolas was sitting by the fire. His blond braids hung over his back, glowing golden in the flickering firelight, and his deep eyes were brooding. In his long fingers he held a small stick, and as he stared intently at the flames, he used it to poke at the fire. _

_I frowned. Shouldn't he be resting? It was rather late already. Deciding to talk to him, I got up carefully, making my way towards him, and stopped just before his body, my shadow overlapping with his._

"_Can't sleep?" My own voice came out softer than I expected, but he turned nevertheless._

"Scared you? Frightened you?" Legolas suggested, leaning back against the wall. I scowled heavily.

"No, you just—I knew you were there." I cut off lamely.

He arched an eyebrow and narrowed his eyes, stepping forward. My heart begun to race, and I felt a familiar stirring in my stomach.

It must just be the wound, acting up again.

"So, really." He stepped back, leaving the polite distance between us, and I slowly let loose the breath I hadn't realised I had been holding, letting it whistle through my teeth. "Why can't you sleep? Again?" he added, mimicking my previous posture and resting his elbows on the banister.

As he gazed out into the distance, I studied his profile. He had long, flowing hair that looked smooth and soft, as well as a strong yet delicate jaw, and high cheekbones. Shadows, dancing in the moonlight, accentuated the curve of his cheek, and I could not help but register how attractive he was.

"I—I—I wasn't used to sleeping in a room." I offered, tripping over my tongue several times. Regaining my composure, I elaborated, "I usually sleep outdoors."

"That's nice." Legolas commented offhandedly, but soon a faraway look consumed his eyes. There was only one thing I could think of that he was thinking of.

"Are you thinking of your home?" I asked cautiously.

He sighed. "Yes, somewhat," he said. "In Mirkwood, sleeping outdoors is dangerous, because we might run into armies of orcs or spiders anytime, anywhere. We get to camp outdoors when we are on patrol, but only in groups. Such is the hold of Mordor that Greenwood the Great has been reduced to this state."

I straightened up, turning to look at him fully. "How is Mirkwood like?" I prompted. Somehow, I wanted to know more about Legolas' life, and his home definitely fell under that category.

"I don't know how to describe it. Have you never been there before?" When I shook my head, a small smile crept across his lips and he folded his arms, looking at me. "Alright then. I'll do my best."

He swung up onto the parapet, his back facing empty air, and I shivered despite knowing the extraordinary sense of balance of my kin.

Legolas patted the spot next to him, and I got on more cautiously than he had done, supporting myself with both my hands, the rough stone scraping against my skin. As I sat there, my leg jiggling slightly, I could feel his warmth radiating from his body and washing against my skin, heat against the harsh wind.

"You have odd habits for an Elf," Legolas noted. I looked up at him, then followed his gaze to where my leg was bobbing up and down.

"Oh. Well, I pick up many habits on my travels," I said, staring at my now stock-still leg. I could feel his eyes on me. "So how is Mirkwood?" I asked again, wanting to divert his attention.

"Yes, Mirkwood. In the spring it is beautiful, with little streams of sunlight filtering through the green leaves and flowers blooming. It isn't anywhere as bright and airy as Imladris or Lothlórien but in spring it is truly enchanting, especially when we get to see the sun at last." His voice filled with both longing and sadness. "In summer it is not hot, of course, it remains cool all year long except for winter, and then it is bitterly cold. In autumn the leaves start to fall, and the Elflings sometimes play in the piles of brownish-red leaves, throwing fistfuls of them at one another and rolling around in them." He gave a chuckle. "In winter we usually stay at home, or in my and my _Ada_'s case, we settle court matters and other paperwork. We are always on guard at home." He let out a wistful sigh and turned to me yet again.

"What about you? How are your travels? Why did you even decide to travel? Isn't Imladris a nice place to stay?" He pelted one question after another at me, and I felt slightly dizzy, and maybe a little hypnotized.

"It is." I nodded, flipping back a lock of hair that had blown into my face. "I suppose I just felt rather restricted. I don't think I ever fit in much with the Elves." I shrugged, and a sudden thought sprang to my mind, causing a smile to flash across my face. "Do you know I used to write poetry?"

Legolas gave a clear laugh, and it sent shivers running down my back, though not entirely unpleasant. "You? Poetry?" He shook his head. "I really cannot, for the love of Eru, imagine you writing poetry."

"I know." I said quietly.

Suddenly, all talk ceased, and we sat there on the parapet, Legolas staring down seemingly at the floor, and me jigging my leg up and down again. I just could not seem to stop.

What was Legolas thinking now?

I swung myself towards him, and at the same time, he turned towards me. "I—" I opened my mouth to speak, then stopped abruptly as he reached out a hand.

That hand tucked a lock of dark hair behind my ear, his fingertips lightly brushing over the pointed edge.

I froze.

For what seemed like an eternity, we stared at each other. Then Legolas seemed to snap out of a trance and realise what he was doing, hurriedly snatching his hand away like he had been burnt.

I jumped off the parapet, landing on the floor neatly, and turned to face him. "I—Er—Do you want to go back to bed?"

Upon hearing the ridiculous words my mouth had uttered, I flushed deep crimson, then quickly stuttered out an apology. "I mean—that wasn't my meaning—I just—"

Legolas leaped nimbly down as well. "I understand." The corner of his lips quirked upwards and his eyebrow twitched, giving him an altogether adorable and endearing look.

I backed away slowly. "So… I'll see you tomorrow, then?"

Legolas nodded, the expression on his face unchanged, and walked past me as I stood there numbly. As I watched his figure disappear down the stairwell, I felt something in my heart clench and my stomach relax.

What had I been thinking? What had I been _saying? _I was an Elf! I wasn't usually so clumsy in others' company; in fact, I rather thought I acted like an Elf, but around Legolas…

I shook my head. After this, I was sure not to be able to sleep.

* * *

** A/N:** Hehe, yet another Author's Note. Once again, sorry for the short chapter! And also for the (somewhat) late update. I have school now and I have piles of homework :'( From now on, I will update weekly.

Please review! I would love to hear your opinions ;) Is the Legomance too fast? Too slow? Too little interaction? Too much? Too much dialogue? Not enough description? Tell me what you think!


	9. Searching

**Disclaimer: **I only own my OC, Calen.

**A/N: **Surprise! I was free this weekend so… here is another chapter. Happy reading!

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Legolas' POV

"Is there nothing to eat for breakfast?" Gimli muttered, emerging from his bedroom. His bushy beard was tangled, the braids messily interweaving together, and now that he was not wearing his helmet, his hair was fuzzy and all over the place.

I smirked and leant against the doorway. "My friend, why don't you—" I paused, pretending to think and tapping my fingers against my chin, "_freshen _yourself up a little before coming downstairs in search for food?"

"What?" Gimli's eyes widened and he self-consciously smoothed down his red hair before remembering that he was in my—an Elf's—presence, and he drew himself up to his full, albeit rather short height. "All Dwarves look like this when they wake up, _Elf,"_ he attempted a haughty tone, "we don't wake up looking like some silly, perfect tree-hugging creature—"

"Thank you for the compliment, but I don't quite agree with the first word you used." Calen appeared at the other side of the doorway, looking at Gimli intently. "Elves are not silly. In fact," here her voice grew deep and solemn, "we are the wisest and fairest of all beings."

Gimli gaped at her, stunned by her sudden appearance and spurt of words. "I—disagree with that!" he huffed after a moment. I glanced over at Calen and she met my gaze for a fleeting moment before leaning in at the same time as me, staring into the deep depths of Gimli's eyes. With two Elves towering over him and gazing at him steadily as if he was a little child that had done something wrong, Gimli quavered slightly, then turned his back on us with a harrumph.

"I'm going to _freshen up_!" he called over his shoulder, scurrying into the bathroom. I smiled at Calen, but she only gave me a tight-lipped one in return before she started to descend the steps leading to the dining hall.

"Calen?" Surprised, I called after her, walking down the steps. "Is there something wrong?"

At the foot of the staircase, she paused, ceasing her steps and whirling on me. "No, why would you think so?" Her voice was laced with hidden ice but I noticed her swallow nervously as she spoke.

"You don't look very well." I cocked my head to one side, examining her face. Of course she looked perfectly fresh and kempt, as was the way with all Elves, but her face _seemed_ paler than usual as she stood there.

"I'm perfectly fine." she snapped. A look of hurt must have flashed across my face though I tried to keep it hidden, because soon after, she closed her eyes and rocked back and forth on her heels.

"I just… don't want any company today."

Again?

She always seemed to need alone time. I could understand the need to be alone occasionally, but that was the third time she had said she needed "alone time" in… two days, perhaps?

A thought flashed like lightning across my mind and I paused, staring at her. "This isn't anything to do with… yesterday night, is it?"

We actually hadn't done anything last night. I had needed some fresh air and so I went up to the rooftop. Coincidentally, she had been there too, so we talked for a bit. And…

_One of her curls blew across her cheek, and she raised her hand impatiently to swipe it away, but she missed. Chuckling under my breath, I impulsively reached out and tucked the soft hair behind her ear._

I had merely touched her hair! I frowned, running over the details last night. She had looked a little nervous when I talked to her… and she had stammered after I tucked her hair behind her ear.

Was she up to something?

"Calen, what is wrong?" I leaned forward, but at the same time, she took a step back. "You can tell me, you know."

"Nothing is wrong." Her voice was steady, but her eyes betrayed her lie.

Thinking that I better leave her alone—as she had requested—to settle her bad mood, I gave her a hesitant nod.

"Alright then. I'll leave you to your own devices."

With that, I turned around, heading for the dining hall. I soon found my way there, and I spotted Aragorn among the crowd, lifting a sausage to his mouth with a fork.

"Aragorn!" I swung into the empty seat next to him. Any other human would be shocked or at least surprised by my sudden appearance, but I knew he was well-used to the ways of the Elves, having being raised by Lord Elrond.

Aragorn stuffed the remainder of the sausage into his mouth, his cheek bulging, and I suppressed a smirk.

"Is something wrong with Calen?" I questioned. Calen, from what I could tell, was the most comfortable with him, so if something was up, he was the one who would know.

"Is there?" He raised an eyebrow, but didn't seem to be very surprised.

"Haven't you noticed?" I teased, but soon after, I dropped the tone and bent forward. "She seems cold and distant, and she keeps wanting to be alone."

"What's there to eat, laddies?" Gimli roared, approaching us. His beard had been somewhat tamed into a few thick braids, and he had an amiable smile on his face as he scanned the array of food.

Aragorn gestured to his plate. "Sausages. And other stuff that I don't recognise."

"The Ranger does not recognise Rohirric food?" I cocked my head and wrinkled my nose.

Aragorn narrowed his eyes, turning his attention to me. "Legolas, do not say one more word. Or you will find yourself impaled on the end of a _Ranger's_ sword."

"I'm terrified." I quipped, hurriedly standing up before Aragorn could strangle me with his bare hands. "I will—ah—accompany Gimli to forage for food."

Then as I followed Gimli away from the table, I could not resist calling over my shoulder, "—that a Ranger does not recognise."

* * *

"You say she does not want any company today?" Aragorn mused.

"Is she just having a tantrum?" Gimli interjected.

"Why would she be having a tantrum?" I asked, then turned back to Aragorn. "The previous day at the feast, she also asked for alone time. But then I met her wandering on the streets."

Calen was really the strangest Elf I had ever met.

Aragorn tapped his chin, absentmindedly rolling a ripe apple in his hand. He tossed the red fruit up in the air every few seconds and caught it without even looking. Presently, he threw the apple up in the air again, and the air felt so tense I needed to do something, and so, making use of my elven reflexes, I lunged forward and snatched the apple out of the air.

Aragorn stopped and stared at me. "Give that back now, _Elfling_."

"No."

He sighed. "Look, Legolas, do you really want to figure out this stuff about Calen? Because if you want to, you should stop messing around."

I lowered my eyes, abashed. "I am sorry, Estel. That was not my intention."

Aragorn gave me a terse nod, then propped his face up with his hands, leaning on the table. He was sitting across me and Gimli, and we were discussing how to cheer Calen up—if she needed cheering up, that is.

It was rather odd really. We only knew Calen for a week or so and she was already our friend. But she had this certain likeable quality to her. She could be a little rude or distant at times—like now—but I supposed they were more of the habits she had learnt in her time traveling, but generally she was nice, and made friends quickly.

"… What do you think, Legolas?"

I snapped out of my trance and looked up, seeing both Aragorn and Gimli staring at me.

I flushed slightly. "I apologise. What did you say, again?"

"We invite her for a spar?" Aragorn repeated patiently.

A spar. That was actually a rather good idea. When I was at home and needed to release energy after being in court for too long, I often had practice spars with my friends. It was a good way of rewinding, at least for me. But why not for Calen as well?

I nodded slowly. "That is a rather excellent idea," I approved.

Aragorn smiled. "I knew you would agree with me, _mellon-nin._ Especially since I got the idea from you."

"Oh?"

"Yes, when I was visiting in Mirkwood previously, you had just come out of a court meeting and you were so very _bored_, so we sparred—do you still remember the outcome?" Aragorn asked, eyes twinkling.

"I won, of course."

"No, I did."

"Laddies!" Gimli interrupted. "Calen?"

* * *

We split up, as the Golden Hall was actually rather large, though it looked small from the outside. Moreover, Calen could be anywhere, be it in one of Rohan's marketplaces, stables and whatnot.

So I found myself walking along the length of the Golden Hall. Gimli, being the typical Dwarf that he was, insisted that he wanted to search Rohan's villages, which was supposedly for my "own good" because Dwarves could "cover more distance and the villages are so very big".

I suspected he just wanted to get more food and ale from the stalls.

Aragorn had wandered off somewhere; he had said that he was not going to search any specific place because he doubted that Calen would have gone to a specific place as well.

So, here I was.

Since Calen had gone to the balcony yesterday when she couldn't sleep, I had started from that very place, slowly working my way down.

The balcony was deserted, so I walked along the second-floor corridor. Most of the rooms were empty and the doors were wide open, so I mostly poked my head into the rooms, checking that Calen was not inside before moving on to the next one.

There was a room which had a closed door, and I paused, perking my ears to see if I could hear anything from within.

Silence.

Not even any breathing sounds! But if the door was closed, surely someone must be inside? Tentatively, I raised my hand, curling into a fist and knocking on the wood. It rang out loudly in the deserted floor, and I cringed.

No answer.

I knocked again, and waited. After a few minutes had passed, I positioned my hand on the wood, slowly pushing it open.

The door gave way with naught but a soft creak; it was recently oiled and thus must have been regularly inhabited.

My eyes took a short time to adjust to the gloominess of the room. It was relatively large, and it looked like it could have been a beautifully decorated room had the blinds over the windows not be drawn. Black strips of fabric hung over the windows, giving a grim, funeral air. When I stepped into the room, I could recognise a female, human scent.

As I looked around the room, I spotted a long, white dress draped over a nearby chair. The bed in the centre of the room had been made neatly, except for a little creased spot in the middle, which signified that someone had been sitting on it, but not lying down.

I frowned. This was certainly intriguing, but now my task was to find Calen, and Calen wasn't here, so I had better leave.

Giving the room one last glance, I moved out of the room and into the corridor yet again, carefully shutting the door behind me.

Now to continue searching for Calen.

* * *

**A/N: **Yes, I know. Short chapter. Again. But you will see why it is important that I end here next chapter, and I promise the next one will be longer!


	10. A Cage

**Disclaimer: **Lord of the Rings belongs to the Professor.

**A/N: **If it is Legolas' POV I will put it down as such (Legolas' POV), if it is Calen's POV I will not say anything.

* * *

Where was I going?

I did not know. All I knew that I was walking aimlessly around the Golden Hall, looking for the exit, for my room… anything.

But nevertheless I was still rather surprised when I ended up in the centre of the Hall's first floor, where servants were milling around and doing their work. The doors leading to the throne room were in front, but I dared not go in, for it would be inappropriate to barge in, not to mention incredibly awkward.

"Can I help you?"

I turned at the sound of a voice beside my ear, and saw a young woman smiling at me, her long blond hair tumbling down her shoulders.

She looked familiar, and it took a moment of solely observing her before it clicked. Wasn't she King Théoden's niece? The one I had seen when Gandalf was releasing Théoden from Saruman's hold?

I stepped forward, my sharp eyes scanning her features, and finally asserted that she _was_… Éowyn, was it?

"My lady Éowyn?" I asked politely, inclining my head towards her. I felt a sudden urge to press my hand against my chest and hold it out towards her in an elven greeting, which was odd, considering I had not been in contact with the Elves for quite some time now.

"Yes," she tilted her head, "You are the Lady Calen, are you not?"

Despite myself, I laughed and shook my head. "I am no lady."

She smiled genially and laughed back. Her laughter was clear and rang across the hall like bells, and the servants, scurrying around, paused to stare at her a moment.

I had a feeling she did not laugh much.

"If you call me Éowyn, I will call you Calen," she extended her hand and I shook it, immediately recognizing the human gesture.

"Alright," I said hesitantly. "Éowyn."

Saying her name like that still felt rather odd to me. She was a highborn, of royal status, and the Firstborn had never been so informal with titles before. Moreover, though I was accustomed to human ways, I had never met human royalty before.

I had never had any reason to.

"Calen." Her face took on a rather serious expression. "Would you like to take a walk?"

I paused. My intention this morning had been to be alone, and yet every time I did so, I ended up being distracted. It was rather annoying, frankly, and I had half a mind to reject.

But the courtesy and manners of my people had long since been instilled into me, and I gave a short bow, seizing the moment to hide my hesitance.

"It would be my pleasure, Éowyn."

Boldly, she took my arm, and she lead the way out from the hall and into the golden sunlight. There were a few lovely gardens outside the Golden Hall – though the various flowers, ferns and plants weren't anywhere as nice as the elven ones, they were still lovingly planted, watered and pruned—and we walked along, my eyes sweeping over the numerous plants.

A somehow comfortable silence fell between me and Éowyn, and I followed her to wherever she was going to—I had agreed to accompany her, so I was obliged to—and anyway, I needed some time away from everyone, including myself.

If that even made sense. I laughed quietly at myself and shook my head.

Éowyn came to an abrupt halt, and I paused, taking in the surroundings. We had walked quite a fair distance, and though the Golden Hall was still not very far off all I could see around me was patches of grass with small white flowers scattered around on the ground. As I watched, one of the flowers drifted almost lazily through the air and landed on the soft heaps of grass.

When I stole a glance at Éowyn, she was looking away, but what I could see of her clear grey eyes were filled with brimming tears, a droplet hanging on her pale, damp lashes and threatening to fall.

I sensed her discomfort, as well as grief oozing out of her in waves. Judging by her hunched, shaking shoulders and compressed lips, I knew she probably didn't want to talk, and so I kept silent, staring at the flowers, glistening pure white against the hazy background.

"I am sorry. I should not have brought you here." Éowyn whispered, breaking the silence after a few moments. She turned to me, her cheeks sucked in from forcing her tears back, and I held out my arms.

Almost immediately, she fell into them, and I wrapped my arms around her, awkwardly patting her back. "Hush, Éowyn. It will be alright," I found myself saying in a soothing tone. Her hair fell over my shoulders in glossy waves, and I stroked her hair, feeling like a mother hen.

I could feel the tension in her muscles as she held back her tears, and I whispered, "It's alright to cry, you know."

"He's—so—cold…" she choked out, sobbing freely into my shoulders now.

"Who?" I asked tentatively, unsure if she wanted to speak about this.

"My cousin, Théodred," she gasped, her tears staining my tunic. If I were male I was sure that she wouldn't be doing this, and I also had a sense that if the circumstances were different, she would not be doing this even if I were female.

In the few minutes I had spent with her, I could feel her sense of pride, from the way she had held her head and shoulders upright, from the way she dismissed people with a single glance.

But now before me was a shaking human individual, breaking down before me, and I didn't know what to do. So I just smoothed her tresses down again and again, slipping back into my native language.

It took me a moment to realise that her sobs had dissolved into hiccups, and my voice was flowing smoothly in my musical language, almost as if I had not stopped speaking it for years.

Slowly, she entangled herself from my arms, smoothing back her hair. Her eyes were soggy and sad, rimmed with red stains.

"I'm sorry," she apologised again. "I should not have done that."

I smiled at her reassuringly. "It was no problem." Stepping backward and tucking a curl behind my ear, I murmured, "Do you want to talk about this—as a friend?"

With no regard to her beautiful _white _dress, she sat down on the ground, and soon after, I lowered myself to the ground as well, crossing my legs. She picked up one of the small flowers and put it under her nose, inhaling the scent, and I waited for her to speak.

"My cousin Théodred… he is dead."

I nodded. I had already known that. News traveled fast, especially since Théodred had been the King's son.

"He was murdered by orcs." Her voice took on a steely edge, and she leant forward. "It hurts so much, do you know? To see my dearest cousin lying there, cold and still… I still expect to hear his laugh, see his smile sometimes. When it is time for dinner, I still set out the dishes for him…" She swallowed. "It is painful to lose one of your family members, one of your friends." She concluded.

I knew how she felt. It was the very reason why I didn't want to get close to anybody. It was also—sort of—the reason why I was avoiding Aragorn, Gimli and Legolas.

Alone was best.

"I empathise with you." I lowered my head, spinning the slender stem of a flower in my fingers.

"Have you had a family member die before?"

I tensed, and she must have noticed it, because she visibly paled and shrank back. "I mean… you don't need to tell me if you don't want to."

"No, I haven't. My parents have long sailed to the Undying Lands, but they are not dead. But I have seen deaths of numerous dear friends, close to me as any family member." My voice sounded cold and emotionless, but my mind was buzzing, frantically holding the memories at bay.

Éowyn gasped. "I am sorry for your loss."

I shook my head, unfurling my legs and enjoying the feel of grass against the palms of my hands, the sweet, fresh scent of flowers. It felt wrong that the flowers had been planted here for a dead person, but here I was relishing the smell of it.

Silence blanketed the place, and we both kept quiet. Éowyn probably because she was still embarrassed about the crying incident—she probably never broke down in front of a person like that before, and I was still sort of a stranger to her, and me because I just had nothing to say, and it was rather lovely just to lay back and stare out into nothing.

"Why are you keeping your distance from Lord Aragorn, Gimli and Legolas?" she asked suddenly, leaning back and pressing her palms on the ground to support her weight.

"What?" I spluttered for a moment, shocked at her question. How did she know that I had been avoiding them?

"Is it because of the death of the friends you experienced?" Her voice was hesitant, but her gaze unwavering as she stared at me, demanding an answer.

"How did you know?" I finally found my voice and questioned.

"I…" she looked down and blushed slightly. "I followed you around. But only for a little! And I just happened to see you and Legolas talking."

I suppressed a groan. Oh, for the love of Eru Ilúvatar! What else had Éowyn seen and heard? I sighed, then turned to her.

"You are right. I want to avoid them because I don't want to get too close to them. I don't want to get hurt again."

_And that includes you, _I thought.

Éowyn must have sensed my inner meaning because she shrank back slightly. "But don't you think friendship is worth the price? You cannot keep hiding and evading good friends just because they are…_ mortal_!" she spat incredulously.

"I have survived so long, by myself. I do not need friends." My voice sounded cold and emotionless, and I hated myself for it.

Éowyn lapsed into silence once again, and I stared down at my feet, wanting to say something. She was really observant and perceptive, I had to grant her that. It wasn't that I couldn't make friends, it was just that I was too _scared_ to, I suppose. Friendship was a really abstract and intangible thing, and I didn't know how to explain it.

"Do you know what I am most afraid of?"

"Death?" I responded almost immediately. Weren't all mortals afraid of death?

Éowyn shook her head. "A cage. That is what I am most afraid of."

She turned to me. "Do you see it, Calen? _You_ are in a cage. You are trapped by your own rules, your own beliefs. If you continue like this, you will be friendless and will be alone for the rest of your very long life. It's like how Elves don't fall in love with and marry humans. Those Elves that love humans but cannot stay with them are trapped. They will never ever love again."

She looked at me, but I didn't respond.

"I take my leave." She stood up, giving me one final glance before disappearing into the distance, leaving me alone with my muddled thoughts in a meadow of white flowers.

* * *

**A/N:** Boo. Sigh I know, I don't keep my promises. I said this chapter would be longer but it isn't. Well anyway I do hope Éowyn isn't out of character here, what with her crying. I tried :S And why I needed Calen to have this conversation with Éowyn is because I didn't want Calen to be someone who just met the Three Hunters and is like "Oh, okay, you look fun. I'll join you on your travels" and then go gallivanting off with them. I mean, she has no reason to accompany them now that she is healed! Oh well okay she could accompany them for friendship's sake but she doesn't even want to be close with them! Ahh I'll stop my blabbering but please give me feedback :) That's what that little review box in the corner is there for :D


	11. Good, Hearty Ale Is What You Need

**Disclaimer: **Lord of the Rings _isn't _mine, but I can _pretend _it is, dammit!

**A/N: **As requested, Legolas' POV… Hope you all enjoy it! Also, I forgot to thank you all for the lovely reviews (more than 100 already?!) so… THANK YOU! :D

* * *

Legolas' POV

"Well?" Aragorn looked at me expectantly.

I shook my head, crossing my arms and staring down at the floor. Where _could _she be?

Just then, Gimli came rushing up, huffing and panting. "Not a sign of her, lads!"

An awkward silence ensued as neither Aragorn or I answered. Gimli leaned against a conveniently nearby pillar, taking a moment to catch his breath, before straightening up and leaning toward us.

"Look here, laddies… If she doesn't want to be found, then why not leave her be? If she says she needs space, why not give her what she wants?"

Again, silence. My mind swam. I didn't know what to do with Calen, honestly… She just appeared, injured, while we were on the _Quest _and tagged along with us, and now everyone was just chasing after her like... headless chickens, perhaps? Despite the situation, I chuckled briefly at the ridiculous thought.

"Why don't we go for some food and good, hearty ale?" Gimli piped up again, false cheer ringing in his voice. He clearly didn't know what to do with his two unresponsive friends, and I felt a flicker of sympathy for him.

"Alright," I was surprised to find that my voice didn't sound as grudging as I thought it would—I didn't have much appetite—and I turned to Aragorn. "Aragorn?"

He gave a terse nod, and I found myself mulling over Aragorn, along with Calen, now. Why did Aragorn look so preoccupied? I looked over his face, and spotted details I had not noticed before—bags under his eyes, his downturned lips, dark stubble dotting his face…

Every once in a while he would also reach up unconsciously and run his fingers over the necklace hanging on his neck.

The Evenstar.

Of course Aragorn would be worried about Arwen. Knowing Arwen's father, he would be sure to try all ways and means to dissuade Arwen from staying on Middle-Earth. And now that we were on this Quest, Aragorn was sure to question whether he had been right to tell Arwen to leave…

Gimli's voice increased in volume as he noticed our listlessness, and I made an attempt to shake myself from my stupor and start listening. However, as he was ranting on about some Dwarven ale, I felt myself retreating back into my own mind yet again.

Apparently Gimli had made enough midnight forays to the dining hall to not miss it anymore, and I found myself being directed into the hustle and bustle of the hall—wasn't it lunchtime for the humans now?—and forced onto a rickety bench.

Beside me, Aragorn made a sound of protest as Gimli shoved him unceremoniously onto the bench as well. The wood beneath me rattled and shook dangerously, and I hissed at Aragorn, "You are _tremendously_ heavy."

I was gratified to see a small smile creep over his lips as he returned, "Not as heavy as you."

Shrugging nonchalantly, I turned back to the table, giving him the illusion that he had won the fight, before saying loudly, "Who was the one who requested second helpings when Sam cooked sausages the other day?"

"I did no such thing!"

"A Ranger never lies," I intoned solemnly.

Aragorn spluttered for a moment before subsiding. "But the sausages were _really _good," he countered weakly.

Once again, I lifted a shoulder, scanning my surroundings. Gimli had disappeared into the crowd, and without his cheerful rants to buoy the conversation along, Aragorn and I fell into thoughtful silence.

"Do you miss her?" _What a silly question_, I thought as soon as the words escaped my lips. Of course he does.

Aragorn's hand flew to the Evenstar yet again, and he drew in a breath before answering, "Who?"

I gestured towards the pendant. "You know of whom I speak. Do not attempt to trick me, Estel, I have known you for far too long."

He sighed and leaned back slightly. "If I said beyond belief, would you laugh at me?"

"Am I laughing?"

He let out a ragged breath. "Yes. Yes, I do. Every day. I miss her laugh, her voice, her grace... I can't help but think I made a mistake telling her to leave."

"I know Arwen almost as well as you do, Aragorn. She would _not _do that. She would stay for you."

As much as I believed that, I also knew the consequences. What would happen to Arwen when Aragorn died?

Aragorn shook his head.

"Ale, that's what you sober lads need! Good, hearty ale!" Gimli hollered, slamming three foaming mugs down onto the table. As I watched, the white bubbles streamed down the side of my mug, floating around the base in a pool of itself.

Gimli swung into the seat opposite me and Aragorn, drinking deeply from his mug before letting out a burp. As he wiped his mouth, I commented amusedly, "You seem very practiced."

"I am." Gimli took another gulp. "Now let's get to business."

Setting his mug down on the table with a huge clang, he propped himself forward with his elbows and said, "Spill."

I raised an eyebrow in what I hoped was an innocent manner—that, and I also had no idea what Gimli was going on about. "Spill… what?"

"What happened between you and Calen?" Gimli waved his hand dismissively in the air.

My jaw dropped.

"What… happened between me… and Calen?" I choked. I noticed that Aragorn, who had previously been sitting back silently, had now leaned forward with a wide grin.

They both nodded in unison, two heads bobbing up and down. For a moment I stared at them, torn between banging my head on the table and launching into a list of reasons why nothing happened between me and Calen.

Well, nothing did actually happen…

I folded my arms. "Nothing happened." I said firmly.

"I see the way you look at her… I see the way she looks at you… There must be _something_." Gimli reasoned.

"I am completely serious, Dwarf. We are just friends." I stated, glaring at Aragorn who had dissolved into silent fits of laughter.

Gimli exchanged an infuriatingly knowing look with Aragorn. "Elf… You and the _other _Elf…" He sighed and shook his head, lifting his mug to his lips and draining it.

"Alright. If you say there's nothing between you and Calen, what's with you being so concerned about her mood swings and where she went?"

"I'm not!" I protested indignantly, but there was a sinking feeling in my stomach.

"Why did you look so disappointed when you couldn't find her, and why didn't you respond when I was insulting Mirkwood?"

"You were?" I instantly sat up, deciding to ignore the first part—which was, come to think of it, just a _little_ true…

Gimli sat back in satisfaction. "I said that Mirkwood's wine was of lower quality than Dwarven ale, and also that your palace was an insult to caves in the whole of Middle-Earth."

He flushed at the look on my face, quickly blabbing on, "But to get back to my initial point, you didn't even notice I was insulting Mirkwood—your precious home—when you were brooding about Calen! Admit it!" he finished with a triumphant cry.

I gaped at him, dumbfounded. While everything he had just said had at least an ounce of truth in them, that certainly didn't mean that I was in love with Calen… or whatever they were suggesting! I had only known her for a week, for Eru's sake!

This was utterly insane. Everyone was ganging up against me today, determined to prove something that wasn't true…

"What do you have to say, _mellon-nin_?" Aragorn gave me a roguish grin.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes—something I had perfected during the years spent with Aragorn—and reached out for a pastry from a plate of food Gimli had placed on the table, buying some time.

Behind Gimli, there were quite a few people eating their lunch, chatting and laughing, but in the crowd I spotted a white-blond head.

The Shieldmaiden of Rohan. Lady Éowyn.

"Look, isn't it Lady Éowyn over there? Maybe she has seen Calen?" I instantly cursed myself as the thoughts entered my head and slipped out of my mouth. No matter, let Aragorn and Gimli think what they wanted to think, all I wanted to do now was just escape from this incredibly ridiculous, incredibly sticky situation.

Perhaps it was luck that I had said what I had said, because Gimli and Aragorn grinned at each other, getting up and following me as I made my way to Éowyn.

My mind buzzed. What was I even going to say to Éowyn? We had nothing in common, nothing to talk about… perhaps I should just return to the table or my quarters…

But it was too late. Éowyn had spotted my, along with Gimli's and Aragorn's approach, and she turned to face us fully, her face lit up in recognition and a smile.

"My lady Éowyn!" I enthused, sweeping down into a bow.

There were a few sniggers behind me.

I ignored them and continued, "It is a pleasure to meet the Shieldmaiden of Rohan at last." I winced at my own voice.

"It is a pleasure to meet you as well," Éowyn said with wide eyes, looking a little confused. "Lord Legolas, is it?"

More sniggers.

"Legolas will do, my lady."

"Then Éowyn will do, as well." She winced after she spoke this sentence, and glanced behind her nervously.

"Lord Aragorn, Lord Gimli." she acknowledged them with a nod and smile each, and they bowed in return. I also noted a genuine happiness in her face as she greeted Aragorn, and I thought, _Oh no. If she continues like this she is bound to get hurt._

I glanced at Aragorn and saw a strained smile plastered over his face.

Gimli, of course, soon filled the atmosphere with much chattering, attempting to get Éowyn to "side with the Dwarves against those insolent Elves!"

The thought of Calen was tucked in a little corner, safely out of my—and everyone else's—mind. Or so I thought.

Because what happened next was just too atrocious, considering the circumstances.

Gimli was standing on a bench, demonstrating something, Éowyn was laughing, Aragorn was smiling and I was_ resisting_ the urge to smile.

"Gimli? What are you doing?"

When I heard Calen's voice, a tremendous rush of relief coursed through me.

* * *

**A/N: **I didn't mean for this fic to be so—drama?—but well, it just came spouting out. Also, I've spent three chapters on the time they spent in Edoras… hopefully I'll be able to round the drama up soon and continue the Quest, but I hope you'll stick with me till then! :D

Thanks to R2-D2106 for the suggestions :D They really helped! To everyone, I hope this is okay, and please review! :D


	12. Thoughts and Musings

**Disclaimer: **If I owned Lord of the Rings, I would be suing my own ass for writing such a horrible fic. (among others)

* * *

Was Éowyn right? Was I really restrained by my unwillingness to make friends with Aragorn, Gimli and Legolas, or perhaps even Gandalf?

I had spent many years travelling, maybe even tens of Mens' lives. Along the way I had met many people, made many friends, only to have them slip away.

When did I start drawing my walls up from people around me, afraid of hurting myself with their mortality?

Yes, I think Éowyn was right, my own walls were slowly, but surely forming a cage around me. Only I had the keys to unlock it.

I took a deep breath, standing up and looking toward the Golden Hall. Éowyn's cousin—Théodred's funeral would be held tomorrow. I tilted my head up to look at the sky, an endless canvas of blue dotted with fluffy clouds. Didn't the very death of the prince just prove that… well, Men were so prone to death?

I immediately shook my head, gnawing on my lip. I had to change my mindset. I could _not_ think such thoughts.

When I had left the situation with Éowyn like that, what was I supposed to say to her at the funeral tomorrow?

I shook my head even more vehemently this time. _Take one step at a time,_ I told myself. Focus on figuring out your relationships with Aragorn, Gimli and Legolas first. You can handle Éowyn when the next day comes.

I drew in a deep breath, thinking of Aragorn's kind words, Gimli's loud jokes, Legolas' smile. Was I willing to give up friendship with them in order to keep them at a distance?

Then I thought of Legolas yet again. He was an Elf, why was he not afraid of losing Aragorn and Gimli to death? Was he not scared that there would be nothing left to hold?

I answered myself. From what I had deduced, Legolas did not leave his home, Mirkwood much—he would not have interacted with many people outside of his—our—race. He did not know _how _it felt like to have your loved ones pass away, to have them swept away by the current of time. I stopped and reconsidered this. Legolas did, however, seem to be rather close with Aragorn and Gimli—perhaps they were a couple of his few mortal friends?

Of course, I also knew that Legolas was an exception of sorts. Back when I was living in Rivendell, they were many ellyn leaving for patrols, to fight orcs and all, almost on a daily basis. Even the Lord's sons—Elladan and Elrohir, if my memory had not failed me—left Rivendell for long periods of time to battle orcs. I had yet to know of the deaths of any Elves who went on these 'excursions', but I _had _seen wounded Elves being brought into Rivendell before. Still, death and injuries were on two different sides of the spectrum.

Wait, speaking of Elladan and Elrohir…

Nobody in Rivendell—of course except Lord Elrond, Elladan, Elrohir and Arwen, Lady Celebrian's family—had really known why Lady Celebrian had left for the Grey Havens—we knew that she had been assaulted by orcs, but no other information had been divulged. There had been talk of Lord Elrond trying to heal her, but only succeeding in healing the physical side of her—I was not sure whether it was indeed true, but nevertheless, she had left for Valinor, resulting in the Elladan's and Elrohir's hatred for orcs, and therefore the main reason why they devoted so much of their time to getting rid of the foul creatures.

I wondered how Elladan and Elrohir had felt at that time. How would it feel like to first lose your mother to some orcs, try all ways and means to get her back, and then finally, when she was here and safe with you, lose her yet again, this time of her own will, and for Eru knew how long?

It must have hurt a lot, obviously. Death and sailing were two different things, but they still involved loss, and hurt, and Elladan and Elrohir must have been scarred by that experience. Yet, as far as I knew, they had close friendships with the Dunedain, the Rangers, and Men in general. They weren't like me.

It had been so long since I set foot in Rivendell, yet my memory of the place, of the people there was still impeccable.

Another question sprang up in my mind: If I had disliked and tried to avoid getting close to Men for so long, why didn't I return to Rivendell? Why did I continue to roam the many lands of Men when I forbade myself from forging relationships? If I had returned to Rivendell, I would be back with my own kind.

I supposed it was because I wanted, almost _needed_ that freedom, that rush I got from going, staying wherever I wanted, doing whatever I wanted. But well, come to think of it, didn't the restrictions I set on myself take away my freedom?

How ironic, that I would want to have freedom and in the end just take it away from myself.

I tentatively lowered myself onto the ground, and my head hit a soft pillow of grass. It was quiet and tranquil and perfect for thinking, and that was exactly what I had been needing for the past couple days—this place was perfect. Éowyn was like the keys to the locked doors in my mind—she had brought me to this place, which had been essential to my thoughts, and she had brought up the issue, probing beyond anyone else, the one who had forced me to think about all these.

I _could _put aside my qualms about mortality and forge relationships with Men.

And now that there were so many factors, so many reasons for doing this, why couldn't I do it? Why couldn't I try?

I took a breath. It would be hard adjusting my mindset, adjusting to it, but yes, I could try. It was the first step in the right direction. I could try—try to unlock the doors of my cage, try to be free again.

* * *

I walked briskly towards the Golden Hall. I wasn't sure where I would find them, but I _would_. I needed to find them to apologise to them, to explain to them.

I wasn't quite sure why it had just taken a few sentences from Éowyn to get me up and running again, but I thought it was something I sensed from her. The haunted, hollow look in her eyes as she talked about Théodred. She had experienced the death of her beloved ones, too, and that gave me something to cling on to, for she knew what I had gone through.

It was lunchtime in Edoras now, and I weaved my way through the people even as they turned to stare and point at my ears, whispering. I allowed a smile to cross my lips. They probably hadn't seen an Elf before in their lives.

When I passed the dining hall, I was reminded by the fact that I hadn't eaten for a day. I had declined dinner the previous day at the feast, for I was so caught up in my affairs.

I winced at the thought of how I had acted for the last couple of days. Saying that I needed alone time on and off, and running off without a word.

They probably had just dismissed me as just plain, odd, or maybe, just maybe… they were worried about me?

Nevertheless, as I peeked into the dining hall and the aroma of food wafted out, I sniffed longingly. Elves could sustain for many days without food; in fact, I could probably go twelve days or maybe more without a single bite. Still, that was not to say I couldn't be hungry…

But what about Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli? I had yet to find them to make things right.

Eventually, the thought of a full stomach won out. Besides, I could just slip in, grab some food, and come out! I didn't need to stay for long; I would probably be done in less than a minute.

Hesitating for only a moment, I ducked through the doorway into the crowded hall. My vision adjusted quickly to the dim lighting, as I immediately saw the rows of food, laid neatly out on tables.

I was so consumed in getting to the tables that I barely noticed a familiar stout figure, perched precariously on a long bench, waving his arms. Two fair-haired figures and a dark-haired figure stood next to him, smiling.

My heart almost stopped, and my palms suddenly felt sweaty. I felt tongue-tied, and a sudden thought sprang to my mind.

_Elves are immortal, wisest and fairest of all beings._

Immortality was what had started this whole mess in the first place, and I certainly didn't feel very wise or fair right now.

So I blurted the first thing that came to my mind: "Gimli? What are you doing?"

They all turned in unison. Gimli toppled off his perch and into Aragorn's hurriedly outstretched arms, Éowyn whirling around with a sudden gasp, and Legolas executing a smooth turn of his head.

"Hello." I said in what I fervently hoped was a friendly tone. "I just came to get some… lunch?" I gestured to the tables.

Oh, stupid, _stupid_, Calen.

"So, can I join you all?" At least this question was reasonable enough. One, I didn't actually know if they still wanted to befriend me, considering that they actually wanted to befriend me in the first place. Two, I really needed to have some time with them to explain and apologise.

Gimli was the one who nodded and yelled cheerfully, "Sure thing, lass!"

I numbly headed over to the tables.

Taking a plate from the neatly stacked pile at the side, I added some food to my plate listlessly- my appetite was now gone—and headed back, my heart dropping with each step.

_Oh, Valar, please give me the correct words to say…_

I dropped my plate down at the table and all conversation ceased, even Gimli's rambles. I scanned the arrangement. Aragorn, Éowyn and Gimli were seated on a bench, while Legolas sat as a lone figure on the opposite side, an uncomfortable look on his face.

The hint could not have been more obvious.

Holding back a grimace, I skirted the bench and eased in beside the blond Elf, careful not to touch him. Gimli then slid my plate across the table, and I nodded at him in thanks.

Éowyn was staring at me, clearly wondering what I had up my sleeve. A half hour ago, I had been spitting out that I wanted to avoid everyone mortal. And everyone at the table- save for Legolas and myself - was excruciatingly, painfully mortal.

I opened my mouth and shut it again. I desperately wanted to turn back time to undo whatever I had done so that I would not be in this position right now, but, well… it was too late, was it not?

I _really _did not know what to say. In my head, I ran through the lessons I undertook as an Elfling, learning the history of Middle-Earth.

How would knowledge of Turgon's court help me in this situation?

I resisted the urge to sigh. I had said that I wanted to eat lunch, but with everyone staring at me, how was I even supposed to eat? I should start explaining and get it over and done with.

"Well…" I swallowed and chanced a glance at Éowyn. "You all probably know that I've been avoiding you, right?" I raised my eyebrows slightly, expectant yet afraid of their answer.

"Yes…" Aragorn said slowly. I would have thought that he would be pelting me with questions, but he wasn't. I really appreciated that. He wasn't pushing me to tell them why, but letting me take things in my own pace.

I realized that I was sitting up ramrod-straight and forced myself to relax. "That was because…" I paused again, not quite sure how to phrase it. "I don't usually get close to people."

Beside me, Legolas cocked his head. It was a highly distracting move.

"Because… I, as you know, am a traveler. A wanderer, perhaps, you might call me." I added quickly, forcing a smile. "I interact with Men a lot, and well…" I winced. "They are mortal."

_Mortal._

The word seemed to shatter in the air.

I didn't need to say anymore. I knew that they understood.

There was silence for a moment. When I peeked up at Legolas' face, he looked a little shocked. So did Gimli.

But Aragorn's face was filled with hurt and memories.

Éowyn's voice broke the tension, just a little. "I know you must be a little shocked, or surprised. I myself was shocked by Calen's confession as well. But I do think that we must step back and maybe take a look from Calen's perspective. She-being an Elf- is of course immortal. Having interacted with many Men while on her travels, she has likely experienced many deaths of close friends. I'm not saying that how she thinks is right, but can you see how she is scarred?"

Needless to say, I was—to put it frankly—completely and utterly shocked. _Éowyn_ just seemed to pluck the thoughts right out of my head! Was I that easy to read?

Still, I was grateful for her support and explanations, which were so much more coherent than mine. Just as she had changed my mindset, I liked to think that I had changed hers, too, in a way, to see things in a different light.

I shot Éowyn a grateful look, not much more than a small smile and my words conveyed through my eyes. She gave a small nod in return.

"I sympathise with Calen. I can see how immortality, as well as Men's mortality, affects her. I understand her feelings wholeheartedly." Aragorn's words were supportive and understanding, but the way he delivered them was robotic, like he was trying to keep some hidden feelings at bay.

I spotted a silver necklace at his neck, the jewel glowing brightly even in the dim light. I did not know why I hadn't seen it before; it was so dazzling. The pure white light shone from within the jewel, and it was obviously of elven-make.

Did Aragorn… have an Elven love?

My first thought was to ask Legolas or Gimli, but I still didn't know what they thought of my internal debate and well, it would be awkward to ask them in this situation.

Éowyn definitely wasn't the right person to ask, and I couldn't ask Aragorn, of course! It would be, again, awkward, even without to mention the lingering expression on his face.

Legolas began speaking, tearing my attention away from Aragorn."Well, Calen, we are of the same race, if anything, and I must admit I did have qualms about the issue," His words were brittle and carefully chosen, and his blue eyes said so much more than he could actually speak verbally.

_ Immortality isn't what humans think it to be. Aren't all humans afraid of death, afraid of leaving their loved ones and this Earth for an empty, dark void? Don't they all wish to live forever? But have you ever considered how it would be like if you are truly immortal? To watch your mortal loved ones dying year after year. To live on and on, doing the same old things in your endless days._

I knew Legolas was thinking the same thing as I was – I could see, as well as sense, the understanding reflected in his eyes.

Yes, immortality wasn't all that good as it seemed.

"I can empathise with you on this point. However, I never restrained myself from interacting with people just because they were mortal. Immortality has been granted to you, you cannot take it away, so why not just accept it? Accept it as a part of you and live your immortal life to its fullest! Life has its highs and lows. What about the good friends in mortals? Do you just give up potential companions because of their mortality?"

That was exactly what Éowyn had said, and it felt like a double whammy. Somehow, it hurt even more when Legolas was saying it, and I felt my cheeks flush slightly in shame.

"I know," I murmured. "That's why I wanted to say that…"

"Can we be friends again?" My voice dropped to a whisper on the last couple words, and they leaned forward automatically to hear it, save for Legolas—of course, he had elven hearing.

Now that it was out in the open, it sounded so childish—many a time, I had heard human children after an argument or a quarrel, pushing each other and saying loudly, "I don't want to be your friend anymore!"

_Can we be friends again? _Wasn't that sentence virtually inevitable in Mens' (well, children's) lives? So why did it feel so peculiar when_ I _said it? I _was_ considered young by elven standards, after all.

I stared at the table, but it felt too cowardly. As I sneaked a peek upwards as their expressions, I met Aragorn's eyes, and quickly ducked my head down again. The tip of my nail scratched lightly against the tabletop, and I followed the somewhat comforting movement with my eyes – at least I had something to look at.

"Well, Elves and their fickle minds," Gimli made an attempt at a joke after a pause that felt like eternity, and I felt a surge of immense gratefulness and fondness for that little Dwarf that had stuck by me for all the time we had known each other.

"Of course you're forgiven. We Dwarves, we thank the Gods that we don't have immortality—tsk! A silly Elven quality, that's what it is, and we don't need to kick up such a big fuss about it, now do we?" He wrapped a comforting, sturdy arm around me and gave me a smile.

It must have looked an odd sight, a short, stocky Dwarf comforting an Elf, but I didn't care.

"Of course you're forgiven," Éowyn let out a gust of breath as she said this, like she had been holding her breath. She then gave me a wide smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. And I thought I knew why.

This matter, involving so much of the intangible qualities of immortality and of course, mortality would bring back matters of death for her.

I was now very sorry that I had—for the love of Eru, I had done so many things! Avoiding my… _friends_, running into Éowyn—on the bright side, that at least had forced me to think about my mindset—and now… bringing up so many painful memories for Éowyn and Aragorn.

I had no idea why Aragorn would be looking as pained as Éowyn, but he certainly was.

I bowed my head as I waited for Legolas and Aragorn's response.

Legolas let out a little breath that only I could hear. "Calen. If your mindset is truly changed… and you won't keep running out on us again…" He paused.

"Then you are forgiven." he finished.

I looked up, a big gust of relief rushing through me. Until now, I had not really realised how badly I needed their forgiveness, their understanding, and having gotten it was like a breath of fresh air after being cooped up for so very long.

All other questions could be left for tomorrow.

* * *

**A/N: **This chapter _is _a very important chapter, as it *finally!* shows how Calen begins to accept her connection/friendship with the Three Hunters and Éowyn, etc… Well I don't really know how to explain it…

Well, if you have read other Legomances involving OCs (and you probably have! I have, too), you will know that usually the OC (which is also usually a traveler!) meets the Fellowship/Three Hunters and just decides to follow them because she wants to help them/she thinks it might be fun/whatever. I always wondered about that. In this story, I tried to put myself into the OC's (Calen) shoes, and think, _would I really follow them just because of (whatever)_? Well, I always thought friendship would be a perfectly fine reason to follow them (I think most people stick together because of relationships!) but I did want to expand on how a traveler would really feel if she met the Three Hunters, especially since she has gone through different experiences, etc and would think differently.

That's how you got this chapter! I admit it is rather in-depth, and mostly Calen thinking and not much interaction/plot, but I did feel it was essential! The first bit was a little haywire, but I organised it best as I could and well… I hope it works out fine. I hope, too, that it wasn't too fast… as Éowyn just talked to Calen a chapter ago and Calen is just suddenly *ding!*

Oh well. If you've gotten this far, I hope I haven't bored you to death, and that you aren't cursing at me right now for writing such a long Author's Note.

Many, many thanks to R2-D2106, who is my new beta reader and has done a wonderful job with her tips and suggestions.

Please Review! :)


	13. Setting Off

**Disclaimer: **The Lord of the Rings belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien.

**A/N: **Terribly sorry for the wait!

* * *

I stood beside Legolas and Gimli, my head bowed. My hair whipped in the wind, but I dared not move to tuck it between my ears in fear that any movement would be disrespectful to the dead.

As the men carried the body of Théodred downwards toward the tomb, I raised my eyes to meet Éowyn's in a fleeting glance. My sharp eyes immediately picked up the glossy sheen of tears in her eyes, but she blinked them back, forcing the crystalline droplets to retreat.

The men bent their knees, lowering the corpse to the ground. As they stepped back, Éowyn clutched at her cloak in a familiar gesture - I knew from experience that it helped to have something to grip onto while holding back your pain - and opened her mouth, her hands quivering.

"_Bealocwealm hafað fréone frecan forth onsended giedd sculon singan gléomenn sorgiendeon Meduselde þæt he ma no wærehis dryhtne dyrest and mæga deorost. Bealo..._"

As she sang, the men lifted up the body yet again, slowly carrying it downwards, toward the waiting stone tomb. Éowyn did not look at the body, but kept her eyes vacant, fixed on a spot ahead as she continued to sing. Her voice was strong, but it broke at some places.

I sneaked a glance at Théoden. His eyebrows were furrowed, and he looked more or less emotionless as he stood there. But I thought—I knew—that was a façade.

Just as Éowyn finished singing, the men sealed the earth, covering Théodred's body. We all stood there for a couple more moments, heads bowed, before dispersing silently.

Some of the women were weeping. I didn't know much about Théodred, obviously, since I hadn't even met him before, but I could understand the pain everyone who knew him felt, especially Théodred and Éowyn.

I didn't pay attention to where we were going, so lost in my thoughts was I, so I was rather surprised when I followed Aragorn, Gimli and Legolas into the Golden Hall. What were we doing here? Shouldn't we be back in our quarters or something? Though, come to think of it, what would we even _do_there?

With that in mind, I willingly sat down on one of the benches, the others quickly followed suit. I didn't see Théoden or Éowyn, but I supposed they were still off at Théodred's grave, mourning their loss.

As for Gandalf, he was an elusive wizard and I hardly ever got to see him, so I wasn't really surprised at his absence.

We all sat there in silence for a few minutes. All of them seemed to be comfortable enough with not speaking, but I, used to the constant hustle and bustle of humans, shifted uncomfortably, picking at my the fine threads of my tunic.

After a while, the doors to the Hall were pushed open and Éowyn walked in calmly, her face clean and dry of tears. I startled slightly at her appearance, and the sudden sound and movement alarmed me. I had been drifting in a sea of my own thoughts.

I watched as she took in our presence, surprise playing over her face briefly before it was wiped clean. Swiftly, she walked over to our table and at my hesitant nod, sat down.

She didn't do anything to break the silence, much to my chagrin. So, I had to sit there for a little while more, examining my cuticles, running my fingers over the fabric in my clothes, and occasionally darting glances at the impassive humans, Dwarf and Elf at the table.

_Valar._ I cast a side-glance at Legolas' flawless face, wondering if he was feeling as impatient and uncomfortable as me, but if he was, he didn't show any sign of it.

Holding back a sigh, I resorted to staring at the floor blankly, not focusing till the separate tiles blurred into a haze of colours. I longed to burst out in song, to break the silence, as I had done so many years before in Rivendell; merry songs that most people outside our race considered nonsense.

Soon after, the doors banged open yet again, and I sat up quickly. Théoden and Gandalf marched in, carrying a child each in their arms – a girl and a boy. I couldn't see them clearly from afar, but I could certainly make out their grubby faces.

"Uncle!" Éowyn immediately stood up and dashed forward, her arms outstretched… for a hug? I didn't know why I got that notion, but as she reached Théoden's side, she scooped the girl out from his arms and into hers, hurrying back over to the table and setting her down on the bench.

I sat for a moment, dumbstruck, while Aragorn, Gimli and Legolas stood up to help Gandalf. It was only after a moment that I stood up, but Gandalf shooed all four of us away with his free hand as he brought the boy to the table as well.

What were these two children doing here?

Éowyn called for the servants, and in they came, heads bowed.

"Send word to the kitchens to bring food up, preferably some stew or any other food that will be easy on an empty stomach." Éowyn directed. The servants nodded, bobbing down in bows and curtseys before scurrying away.

I looked at the children curiously. I would have expected them to look down, but they lifted their heads, staring at me with bright, equally curious eyes. Though their faces were streaked with dirt and their hair matted, they looked rather adorable, as was the way of Men. Elven children were rare, so I had not much to compare them to.

"Who are you?" The little girl piped up after a continuous minute of staring at me. The boy, her brother probably, shot a sharp glance at her. His warning was clear:_don't talk to strangers._

I laughed. "That is a cryptic question," I said amusedly, wondering if she knew what 'cryptic' meant. "Are you asking me what race I am, or are you asking me my name, or something else?"

The little girl paused. "What is your name, then?" Clearly she was a little stunned by my question, and had to revert to a simpler one.

"My name is Calen, and what is _yours_?" I returned.

"Calen?" The boy jumped in. His pronunciation of my name was surprisingly clear. "That sounds…" he scrunched up his face, deep in thought. "Elvish."

Surprised by their intelligence and knowledge, I replied, "Indeed. I am an Elf."

The boy looked at me. "Well, then you're pretty. Are all Elves pretty?"

Taken aback, I felt a soft blush creeping up my cheeks at the unexpected compliment, even from a child. "Yes, all Elves are fair in appearance, if that is what you are asking," I replied hastily, desperately hoping that the boy wouldn't notice that I hadn't answered his first statement.

He didn't.

Thereafter, the two children began pelting me with questions, such as "Where did you come from?"; "Why did you leave?"; "Why are you here?". I answered best as I could, but at times – when they asked questions which had uncomfortable answers – I swiftly changed topic, returning their questions. Soon I managed to learn that they - Eothain and Freda - had come here on their horse Garulf, which Eothain "was too big for", as put by Freda. Wildmen had attacked, and their mother Morwen had sent them here, to Edoras, to raise the alarm.

Though they had asked many questions and I, too, had questioned them in return, the rate at which we spoke was fast and not five minutes had passed before two servants returned with two steaming bowls of soup and bread with a plate of roast chicken.

The food was set down, and when Éowyn nodded at the salivating children, they forgot their questions and dug into the food. The rate at which they ate was faster even than Gimli's, who had started attacking the drumsticks, and that proved how ravenous they were.

I shook my head. Poor children. They were young, too young to experience the horror of having their homes destroyed and their neighbours killed. Also, it was still uncertain if their mother had died – however, it was more likely than not that she had.

Éowyn wanted to ask them some questions while they were eating. However, she merely drilled me, before standing up and shaking her head despairingly.

"They had no warning. They were unarmed! Now the Wildmen are moving through the Westfold, burning as they go. Rick, cot and tree." She passed her piercing gaze over us, and Aragorn and Legolas exchanged a knowing look.

Not for the first time, I wondered how far their friendship extended.

Freda paused in her slurping of the soup and asked, "Where is Mama?"

For the second time, I thought, _Poor children._ Young and innocent as they were, they probably didn't understand that their mother had more or less given up her life in order to save them, and that their mother had probably been slaughtered by the Wildmen already.

I uttered a sigh.

Freda turned her large, hopeful eyes on me – drat, they were probably the most accustomed to me – silently repeating her question. I could still hear her voice: _"Where is Mama?"_

Before I could answer, however, Éowyn shushed her, wrapping a thick green blanket around Freda's shoulders.

"This is but a taste of the terror Saruman will unleash," Gandalf said solemnly, gesturing towards the two children. Théoden released his head and propped his elbow on the arm of his throne, looking wearily at Freda and Eothain as if it pained him to do so.

"All the more potent as he is driven now by fear of Sauron. Ride out and meet him head-on. Draw him away from your women and children. You _must_ fight!" Gandalf said harshly, gripping Théoden's chair with his broad hand.

"You have two thousand good men riding north as we speak," Aragorn removed the pipe from his mouth and spoke up. "Éomer is loyal to you. His men will return and fight for their king."

Théoden rose from his seat and walked towards Aragorn. "They will be three hundred leagues from here by now! Éomer cannot help us."

Gandalf stood up, walking towards Théoden, but Théoden turned and said sharply, "I know what it is you want of me! But I will not bring further death to my people. I will not risk open war."

Aragorn whipped his pipe out of his mouth yet again, stating, "Open war is upon you, whether you would risk it or not."

Théoden turned and took a heavy, almost threatening step towards Aragorn. When he spoke, his voice was cool, but with an undercurrent of anger running through it.

"When last I looked, Théoden, not Aragorn, was King of Rohan."

I had to stop myself from snorting. As much as Théoden was a good King, Aragorn was merely offering advice – and good advice, if I might add! There was no need to say such a statement and reassert his status. We all _knew_ he was King, and that he had the last say.

Gimli drank deeply from his mug, emptying it, and let out a burp.

Again, I had to hold back a snort.

"Then what is the King's decision?" Gandalf asked, stepping forward.

Théoden turned. Even from a distance, I could see the steely glint of his eyes and the determined set of his jaw.

"We make for the refuge of Helm's Deep."

* * *

Helm's Deep, or the Hornburg as called by the Rohirrim, was a fortress in Rohan, built in a valley, and was said to be invulnerable.

Invulnerable, at least, said Théoden. I wasn't too sure how long we would stand against Saruman the Wise, whose powers I had learned much of when I was an Elfling.

Apparently, Gimli shared my feelings. As we walked along the busy streets of Edoras, carrying our various weapons, he grumbled incessantly.

"By order of the King, the city must be emptied! We make for the refuge of Helm's Deep!" Hama shouted as the villagers stood for the announcement.

"Helm's Deep!" Gandalf barked, moving quickly toward the stables.

"They flee to the mountains when they should stand and fight. Who will defend them if not their king?" Gimli cut in, swinging his axe and huffing into his thick beard as he walked along.

As we turned into the large stables, Aragorn said, "He is only doing what he thinks is best for his people. Helm's Deep has saved them in the past."

"There is no way out of it," interjected Gandalf. "There is no way out of this ravine. Théoden is walking into a trap. He thinks he is leading them to safety, but what they will get is a massacre. Théoden has a strong will, but I fear for him. I fear for the survival of Rohan."

Gandalf lowered his voice, and even I had to prick up my ears to listen. "He will—"

"You shouldn't eavesdrop, you know."

I spun around and breathed a sigh of relief as I met Legolas' eyes. "I wasn't."

He raised an eyebrow, but let me be. When I returned my attention to Gandalf and Aragorn's conversation, they were quiet, exchanging words with their eyes.

I sighed in frustration. Did Legolas do that on purpose? What was so secret that I couldn't hear? Admittedly, I had not been too trustworthy for the past couple days, but surely Gandalf wouldn't speak so blatantly in front of us if he had wanted to keep his conversation with Aragorn private? It was most frustrating.

Not for the first time, I wondered what their business was here, in Rohan.

With a sharp turn, Gandalf walked over to a white horse, Shadowfax, and sighed, "The Grey Pilgrim. That's what they used to call me. Three hundred lives of Men I've walked this Earth, and now I have no time. With luck, my search will not be in vain."

Aragorn stood aside as Gandalf swung himself up onto the horse. "Look to my coming at first light on the fifth day. At dawn, look to the east."

"Go." Aragorn uttered.

Gandalf drew in a deep breath and dug his heels into Shadowfax's flanks. Shadowfax sped out, and Gandalf was gone.

* * *

A day after Gandalf left, we were almost ready. The Rohirrim were quick because they were fearful and afraid of what might happen if they tarried any longer in Edoras.

I had already packed up my belongings in a small fabric bag – some _Lembas_ bread, a couple filled waterskins, and in the depths of my bag I had found also some cram from my previous visit to Laketown. All this, though not pleasant to eat, would be important on the road, where provisions might run scarce.

This I kept in mind as I sat on my bed, counting through the things in my pack a final time. Satisfied, I strapped my sword to my belt, my bow and quiver on my back, and slipped my short hunting knife into the pocket of my boot.

Just in case.

With that, I swept my gaze over the room, ensuring it had been restored to its original state – no sign of my having been here – and left, going down the stairs to the Golden Hall.

I spotted many villagers, mostly leaving with chests of their belongings. My steps echoed in the rather silent hall as I moved across. I didn't see anyone I recognised, so I went out into the daylight, promptly spying Gimli and Legolas.

"Gimli! Legolas!" I called, jogging over. They were all ready, Gimli in his usual mail and helmet, and short battle-axe hanging by his side, and Legolas with his bow, quiver and two white knives.

"Where is Aragorn?" I asked.

Legolas furrowed his brow, squinting slightly in the bright sunlight. "I do not know. I hope he turns up soon, for the people are nearly ready. Théoden would not be pleased if he was late."

I laughed. "Indeed!"

Soon enough, though, Aragorn appeared by our side, followed by Éowyn. The buzz of voices around us did nothing to drown my thoughts.

I was leaving Rohan, with my newfound friends, dare I name them such. Perhaps it could just be another stage of travelling with new companions, as I had done before several times, but I sensed it was more than that.

I just didn't know _what_.

Soon, we were all assembled. To my mild surprise, we were all provided with horses. I suppose now that we had to be, as we were guests of the King, and we set off - to Helm's Deep.

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**A/N: **And so they go. Calen is finally getting over her issues and treating our beloved LotR characters like friends. But will they? And how long will she stick with them?

I would like to take this opportunity to thank all my reviewers - thank you so much for your encouraging comments! :-) Of course, thanks also to my beta reader R2-D2106 :-)


	14. A Mess

**Disclaimer: **Nope, still not mine.

**A/N: **This might help give an insight on what Legolas is thinking! Hopefully, you enjoy :-) Thanks to all reviewers and my beta reader.

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Legolas' POV

The sun was bright and there was no stir of wind as we moved along. The horses trotted on the worn paths, slow enough that the humans could keep up with us, on foot as they were. The people of Edoras mostly had their bags slung over their shoulders, but some lugged their belongings behind them, sharing the load with others.

I stroked Arod's mane as he cantered onward. King Théoden rode with Gamling, and Hama, the captain. Aragorn was to the left of Hama while Gimli and I were next to Gamling.

The roads were rocky and uneven, and I felt a pull at my tunic as Gimli clutched at me desperately. I laughed.

"Elf, please handle your horse properly!" he made an attempt at a haughty tone.

"First of all, his name is Arod; secondly, he is not mine; thirdly, I _am _handling him properly. If you do not like the way I do it, why don't you try?" I quipped, casting a look at Gimli's black face.

He huffed once but otherwise remained silent.

Smirking, I turned back to Arod. Though I rode elven-fashion, Gimli had begged me to put on a saddle and use the reins.

Deciding not to agitate my friend further, I picked up the reins and held them loosely, pulling them taut whenever the horse bumped up and down.

Calen rode behind us. There was enough space for more than five horses on the wide roads, but she had fallen behind almost as soon as we started moving and seemed to be content where she was.

I resisted the urge to turn my head to see how she was faring. After her awkward confession a day ago, Aragorn, Gimli and I had tried to treat her like we did before she started avoiding us. But I think it was difficult for all of us to do so.

_Especially_ for Aragorn.

I let out a sigh. Ai, Aragorn must be in a muddled state now. No doubt his thoughts rarely strayed from the Evenstar, and what Calen had brought up a couple days ago… it was, in short, a mess.

I glanced over at Aragorn, his face was resolutely turned forward; his grey eyes sad and murky. Once in a while he would turn and look behind at the shuffling people.

I could see that he was feeling empathy for the people. He would be a good king; whether he would have a queen by his side, that was yet to be seen.

According to Calen, Men (or all mortal beings) ought not to interact with Elves (or all immortal beings) as the inevitable parting would leave many a scar that would not be healed.

I was sure that she did not know the consequences her words had brought about, but I certainly did. Though Aragorn had said nothing, I could read his mind almost as well as my own.

Calen had confirmed what Aragorn had been mulling over the past few months. Ever since the Quest had started his fear had heightened even more, sharpened by the knowledge that he probably would not return from this perilous journey.

Ever since he had fell in love with Arwen and she came to reciprocate his feelings, Lord Elrond had disapproved of their relationship, using the biggest difference between Elves and Men to break them apart. Of course, Aragorn had been uncertain even in the beginning, but now his feelings wavered even more, supported by Elrond _and_ Calen.

I decided not to think about it any longer. This matter weighed heavily on the mind, and I would love if it Aragorn wanted to talk about it, but now was not the time. War was near, and a sense of foreboding hung over us all.

Of course nothing much could hinder Gimli from talking for long, and as time wore on and morning transformed into afternoon, he started talking to the Lady Eowyn, who was walking alongside our horses.

"It's true you don't see many dwarf women. And in fact, they are so alike in voice and appearance that they are often mistaken for dwarf men!" he chuckled, and I felt my dark mood fade, my spirits raised by Gimli's inextinguishable cheerfulness.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Eowyn turn and look at Aragorn, and he whispered conspiratorially, "It's the beards."

I smiled. At least Aragorn, too, seemed to be cheerful enough.

"… And this gives raise to the belief that there _are _no dwarf women! And the Dwarves just spring out of holes in the ground!" Gimli fully released his hold on my tunic and gesticulated wildly.

As Eowyn laughed, Arod bumped over a particularly uneven patch of sunburnt ground, and I was not in time to pull the reins.

"Which is of course a – woah!" Gimli bounced up and Arod galloped along, feeling the lightened weight immediately, resulting in a very embarrassed Dwarf lying flat on his back in the middle of the dusty paths.

I turned around, stopping Arod, and resisted a cocky smile.

"I'm all right… It was deliberate, it was deliberate." Gimli asserted as Eowyn helped him up.

Deliberate, indeed. I could hear Aragorn's suppressed laughter from behind, and I grinned fondly.

My ears picked up the low current of King Théoden's voice, but it was quickly lost in Gimli's loud voice as he continued to defend his reputation.

I shrugged. It probably wasn't my business, anyway.

Dusk was falling when King Théoden finally stopped his horse, Snowmane. We quickly followed suit, and Théoden spoke softly to Hama, "We rest here for the night." Hama turned and informed the people of this, and with whispers and sighs, the people set down their things, and guards rushed around pitching up tents for King Théoden and the guests.

I settled down on a patch of dry grass next to Gimli, sitting in companionable silence. Now that we had stopped to rest and it was still ominous silence among the people had broken and chatter could be heard around the campsite. However, none of us said anything.

A musical laugh sounded nearby, and I turned my head instinctively recognising the elven quality of the sound.

Calen sat cross-legged on the ground a few yards away, speaking with Eothain and Freda. Her face blossomed with a smile and her cheeks were flushed as she gestured with her hands, talking at a rapid pace. I smiled at the obvious glee on her face. She rarely smiled or laughed.

The two children watched Calen with rapt attention. Suddenly, she swooped towards them, tickling their necks as they squealed with delight.

The entire scene was incredibly sweet. Calen was undoubtedly good with children.

"Legolas!" Gimli's gruff voice broke me out of my thoughts, and I turned towards him, a smile still playing on my lips.

He glanced at me then looked in the direction of Calen and the two children, a self-satisfied expression coming over his face. Before I could comment on it, though, he replaced it with a serious look.

"Oh, what have I done to get stuck with two Elves? One lovesick, and one so motherly…"

I rolled my eyes at him. He was spouting nonsense, and we both knew it.

Seeing my reaction, he laughed and again, turned serious. "Alright, Elf, enough of my joking. I wanted to ask you a question."

"Yes?"

Glancing nervously in Calen's direction again, he said in hushed tones, "Legolas, do you know why Calen's following us? I mean, I know we are friends and all, and she is nice enough, but I can't help but feel that she ought not to. We are on the Quest after all, and she being an outsider… and a female, won't she hinder us?"

I frowned. "Why do you ask? I have been wondering that too, especially since not two days ago, she was avoiding us. She did apologise to us and ask our forgiveness, and I have forgiven her, but I have no idea why she is traveling with us. Perhaps she regards us as comrades or friends and will leave us later on?"

I felt a pang at my heart at the thought of Calen leaving. She had become a good companion, if not a good friend.

Gimli looked uncertain. "Perhaps." With a grunt, he then stood up. "Look, laddie, I'm going for some fresh air and to stretch my legs a little."

I nodded. I could do with some of that too, preferably away from a talkative - albeit dear - Dwarf.

Trees were sparse in Rohan, and especially so on the route to Helm's Deep, a pass taken through the mountains. Even so, the air was rather clean, and I breathed in deeply as I walked away from the bustle of the campsite.

"Legolas?" A tentative voice called.

I turned to see Calen walking towards me. "Yes?" I asked, hoping she hadn't overheard my and Gimli's conversation about her.

She fell into step with me. "Do you mind if I ask you a question?"

"You already have."

She smiled and pushed her hair behind her ear. "Another one, then."

"Go ahead."

She hesitated, took in a deep breath. "Aragorn… does he have an Elven love?"

I blinked, surprised. Out of all the questions I had been expecting her to ask, from the Quest, to the Ring, to us, it had not been this. I weighed my options for a moment, wondering if it would be all right to tell her the truth.

In the end, I told myself nothing would come to harm if I told Calen the truth. After all, she knew nothing of Aragorn's heritage or destiny, or of Arwen's pendant – though Calen was from Imladris and might know of Arwen, she couldn't have seen the Evenstar. "Yes, he does." I said, regretting it immediately as Calen promptly followed my answer with another question.

"Who is she?"

"I cannot tell you," I replied, wincing at the disappointed expression on her face.

"Well then, at least tell me this – has he been hurt by my statements that immortals ought not to be with mortals?"

At my pause, she pressed, "I deserve to know, Legolas."

"A little," I admitted, wondering why I was even replying to her questions. Perhaps it was the beseeching look on her face. Perhaps it was the way she smiled hopefully as I sighed and gave in.

"Now, no more questions. I won't answer them anymore." I spoke hastily, wanting to keep her inquisitive nature at bay for a while and hold back any questions she might have about our company.

She let out an audible sigh but did not protest, our light footsteps sounding at the same time, a pattern, as I directed the way back to the campsite. Dark was falling.

As we sat down for dinner, in a circle with King Théoden, Hama, Gamling and other men, Calen accepted the wooden cutlery without batting an eyelid, while Gimli tapped at them curiously. I decided not to eat, but Aragorn seemed hungry enough.

"Aragorn, did you not take breakfast?"

"I did, but not lunch. That is the reason why I am eating more than usual," he answered, accepting the metal plate of food from the cook. He glanced around and whispered, "Never accept food from the lady Eowyn. She has some skill with the blade, but I fear she has none in cooking."

I laughed, and Calen, who was on the other side of Aragorn, laughed as well.

He hushed us, a smile on his lips. "Do not tell her I said this!" Turning to me, he drew an imaginary sword across his neck.

I laughed again. "Estel, I have had enough of your threats that I can fully ignore them."

He glared, and I looked around for Eowyn, spotting her sitting beside Gimli, chatting amiably.

The buzz of conversation was all around us. After a hard day of leaving their homes and traveling on foot, the humans were all gratified for the steaming hot dinner, warmed by the copperware the royal cooks had brought along. Fires crackled merrily, the orange light dancing, but I looked around warily.

Wouldn't the light of the fires attract enemies? Especially now, Saruman would surely send an army to hinder us on our way to Helm's Deep?

Throughout dinner, I was on guard, and though Aragorn seemed to be relaxed enough, I caught him glancing around furtively at times. Calen, too, was sitting upright, her eyes sharp and glinting in the dark.

Finally, dinner was over, and the king returned to his tent, retiring for the night. One by one, the others dispersed and curled up on the ground, spreading blankets over the grass.

Aragorn and I wandered around for a while, making sure not to stray too far. If an attack came (which was likely as we were now at our most vulnerable – most were sleeping), then the people of Rohan would need our help.

After, we returned to the campsite. Aragorn and Gimli sat at one side with their pipes out, wisps of smoke drifting lazily as they puffed slowly, while I made sure to sit far away from them.

Really, I didn't know what they saw in pipeweed.

Calen appeared out of nowhere when Aragorn and Gimli were smoking, and upon seeing their pipes, she hastily sat next to me. I felt warm and cosy, but the urge to sleep did not overtake me. I had been catching up on my rest in the two nights spent in Edoras.

Gimli shuffled off about an hour later; much as he did not want to admit it, I knew his endurance was wearing thin. Minutes passed before Calen leaned towards me, whispering in such a soft voice only I could hear, "Is Aragorn thinking about her?"

I looked at Aragorn. He had his pipe in mouth and packet of pipeweed in hand, but the other hand was on the softly glowing Evenstar. In front of him, the dying embers of a fire burned low, and his fingers moved in a slow, circular motion across the smooth jewel.

I nodded. "I think we had best leave him alone." Standing up carefully, I decided that sleep was probably the best option.

Aragorn would keep guard tonight.


	15. Wargs and Death

**A/N: ***enters and glances about nervously* Hey! I'm back! *squeals as a torrent of tomatoes whizzes toward me and ducks* Please, don't kill me just yet! I know I've taken FOREVER with this chapter, but I was caught up with school and didn't have any inspiration, so... *shrugs* Well, it's a pretty short chapter, but I hope you enjoy anyway.

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Legolas' POV

When I woke, Aragorn was already up and awake. He paced back and forth outside the tents in the chill morning air, and startled slightly when I lifted the flap of the tent and came outside.

"Aragorn?" I asked. "You should get some rest."

"I have had some." he replied tersely. Pausing, he looked up at me. "Legolas, something is wrong."

"What is?" I inquired cautiously. A Ranger's instinct was not to be doubted; I had had some foreboding and it would be a good idea to listen to Aragorn.

He squinted off at the rising sun, scanning the horizon. "Today will be a day of bloodshed. Legolas," he clapped his hand on my shoulder, "Can you scout ahead today? You have the keen eyes of your fair kindred, if anyone can see what is approaching, it will be you."

_And Calen_, I couldn't resist thinking. But I merely nodded in agreement.

Aragorn decided to prowl around the surroundings, just in case anything was lurking. Upon hearing his premonition, I couldn't help looking around warily with my hand on the bow Lady Galadriel had gifted me.

Calen came out of the tent soon after, looking worried, and Gimli some time after her, stifling a yawn.

"Good morning," I greeted.

"Morning," Calen replied, sitting next to me. Gimli grunted in response, asking, "Where's Aragorn?"

I jerked my head in the direction where Aragorn had gone off, and decided to eat a little _lembas_. If what Aragorn had predicted was true (and it most likely was), then there would be a battle ahead and I had to eat something to gain some strength.

As I unwrapped the leaf from the waybread, Calen sat up.

"Is that the leaf of Lorien?"

Surprised, I glanced down at the leaf in my hand. "Yes, why do you ask?"

Calen pursed her lips, looking like she was deep in thought and shook her head. "Nothing."

I shrugged and took a bite of the bread.

…

It was later when the people started to rouse, and I spotted King Théoden emerge from his tent, speaking rapidly with Hama.

"We leave now!" Hama shouted. "Please pack up your belongings and leave no trace of your being here! We continue on our road to Helm's Deep!"

I stood to one side with Gimli, Aragorn, and Calen as the humans rushed around, stuffing their provisions back into their bags. There was a layer of fear in the air –the people knew that Saruman would not let them flee so easily. There was bound to be an attack.

Soon enough, the people were ready, and we left in the same format as the day before. As per Aragorn's request, I went ahead, leaving Gimli to steer Arod. I silently chuckled at the thought: a Dwarf handling a horse – a horse of Rohan, no less!

A few hours passed by, and there were no signs of disturbance. My ears picked up only the buzz of conversation, the clopping of hooves and the shuffle of footsteps. All seemed to be clear on the horizon as well.

I was about to fall back and inform Aragorn of this when I saw Hama and Gamling riding forward towards a small hill to my left.

Their horses bucked in fear, neighing wildly, and my ears prickled suddenly.

"What is it, Hama?" I heard Gamling shout. Quickly, I scanned the surroundings. There seemed to be a evil presence, but I saw no sign of it, save for the horses' anxiety.

"I'm not sure," Hama called back. He glanced upward, and I followed his gaze.

_A warg scout._

Swiftly, I drew an arrow from my quiver and fitted it on my bow in one fluid motion, before leaping off the ledge and running towards the two men. But it was further than I thought, and as I watched, the Orc on the warg leapt downward, bringing Hama down with it.

I sped up my pace, thinking of shooting the warg from afar. But they were too close, and I risked shooting Hama instead. In that few crucial moments, the warg rider battled briefly with Hama, disarming him, and the warg stretched its jaw wide, sharp teeth glistening with spit.

_No!_

But I was too late. The Warg tore Hama's head off, devouring it, and I shut my eyes for a brief moment, sparing my eyes the sight and sent a quick prayer. Then, I quickly aimed and shot the warg down. The creature collapsed in one sloppy heap, and I raced over, drawing one of my knives.

I plunged the blade into the Orc's chest, black blood dripping from his mouth. Glancing over my shoulder, I spotted Aragorn dashing up just as a great horn blew. His prediction had been right, as usual.

"A scout!" I yelled over to him, and he nodded briskly in comprehension before running off to inform King Théoden.

I finished the Orc off and ran ahead to the highest point of the hill so that I could see. Ahead, the crest of another hill rose, with small figures of wargs tumbling down. Even from here, I could hear their low growls and their jaws snapping.

I fitted another arrow to my bow and carefully aimed, then shot. The warg collapsed, the rider rolling down the hill. Then I killed another. Behind me, I heard the hooves of horses, getting louder and louder, and just as I turned, Gimli galloped up on Arod. Hurriedly, I swung myself up in front of him, grabbing hold of the reins and directing the horse properly. Théoden's soldiers shouted, a battle cry, and I armed myself.

We clashed head-on with the warg riders. All around me was noise and the sounds of battle, cries and shouts ringing in the tense air. I shot down warg after warg, directing Arod with a few words. After a few minutes, Gimli was thrown off, and he landed on the ground with a thump. I looked back at him and shrugged. He would fight better on the ground anyway, and he could hold his own.

I shot so many wargs that I lost count. Occasionally, I spotted Gimli hacking away at the creatures viciously, and supposed that he had lost count as well. I wouldn't admit it to his face, but he was as good a warrior as me. Sturdy compared to my agile, but still good in battle.

At one point, I saw a warg rearing in front of Gimli, ready to pounce on the dwarf. Gimli seemed to be waiting for it to strike. Just to annoy him I shot the warg down before Gimli could kill him.

"Oi!" he shouted angrily at me. "That one counts as mine!"

I chuckled as I rode away.

The wargs kept on coming. Saruman must have unleashed all of his warg riders, determined to deplete our army, and they came in a sea of black. It was no time to think about where Calen was, especially since when I killed a wrag, another swiftly took its place, but I thought of her anyway. I worried about her. When we Three Hunters had first found her, she had been injured, bleeding from her abdomen. Could she hold her own in battle?

After some time – perhaps an hour? In a battle it was hard to tell – I ran out of arrows, and so I had to tuck my bow behind my back and take out my twin knives. It wasn't my preferred method of fighting, and these knives were made for fighting between the dense trees of Mirkwood and weren't suitable on this wide, open space, but I had no other choice.

Eventually, however, the wargs were all dead. Bodies of both Orcs and wargs lay on the ground, but there were also fallen men, and I turned my eyes away. I went around collecting useable arrows from the bodies of our enemies and put them in my quiver. There would be arrows at Helm's Deep, but the more the better.

To my immense relief, I spotted Calen. Her face was drawn and her brown hair slightly dishevelled, but she was alive and well. Impulsively, I ran toward her and wrapped her in a hug.

She smelt faintly of strawberries and still had the fragrance of flowers on her, though her tunic was wet with sweat. She tensed slightly at my contact, but soon relaxed into my embrace.

"I worried that you wouldn't be able to hold your own." I said, pulling back. I hadn't realised how worried, and the extent of my actions shocked me a little.

She smiled gently. "What kind of horrible warrior do you think I am? I have defended Imladris before."

"You have?" This piece of information was new to me.

She nodded and looked away, a flush on her cheeks. "Did you see Aragorn?"

I frowned and glanced around. "He should be somewhere around, tending to the wounded." I walked a few feet in front and scanned the entire hilltop, but he was nowhere to be seen. I saw Gimli walking toward me, his axe swinging from his hand; I saw Calen's suddenly stricken face and knew that my expression must match hers.

"Gimli!" I called to the dwarf. "Did you see Aragorn?"

He shook his head, and my heart sank.

_Aragorn is an excellent warrior. He has held his own in countless battles, against powerful enemies. He survived this battle. I know it._ I tried to convince myself, but even as I called out his name, I had a gnawing feeling that there would be no answer.

"Aragorn!" Gimli and Calen's voices mingled with mine.

My ears picked up a sudden harsh, choking laugh. Whirling, I spotted an Orc lying on a flat stone near the edge of the cliff, clearly in his dying throes. Yet, he had a cruel, sly smirk on his face as he watched the three of us shout for Aragorn.

I stalked over, Gimli and Calen following closely behind. If this Orc had caused Aragorn's death, he would pay dearly for it.

"Tell me what happened to him, and I will ease your passing!" Gimli demanded, his axe resting on the orc's neck.

"He – he's dead!" The Orc chuckled, flecks of spit flying from his mouth, and I felt a sick feeling in my stomach. He jerked his head toward the edge of the cliff. "Took a little tumble off the cliff."

I felt rage consume me. No, Aragorn would never have been as careless to fall off the cliff. My friend never lost in battle. He couldn't be dead!

"You lie!" I grabbed the Orc roughly, jerking his head up and causing more blood to run down his chin.

He merely cackled, before stopping abruptly, his eyes fixed blankly ahead of him. I let him go, but as I turned to go toward the edge of the cliff, a sparkle caught my eye. Kneeling down, I pried open the curled fingers of the orc and stared down at the jewel.

The Evenstar.

So this was it, then. Aragorn would never have let go of the Evenstar even if his life had depended on it. All my doubts vanished, replaced with a resounding truth: Aragorn, my friend, was dead.

Without another word, I turned and ran toward the edge of the cliff.

It was a steep drop. Below, a river ran furiously, spurts of water crashing against craggy rocks. Even if Aragorn hadn't died from the fall, he would have when he landed on those sharp rocks.

I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder. For a split second, I thought it was Aragorn – he had been the only one tall enough to do that for the past few months; Gimli was too short – but when I turned, it was only Calen, her eyes sad.

"He's dead?" Her voice was small, and I flashed back to her confession only two days ago – _I don't want to make any mortal friends. They only end up hurting me._ What did she think now? Did she regret her choice to change her mind?

I nodded silently. A flash of pain ripped across her impassive face, but like me, she didn't cry.

"Come on, laddie, let's go." Even Gimli's voice was subdued.

I cast a glance back at the cliff, at the swirling waters where my friend had died, and tucked the Evenstar into my pocket.


End file.
